Before the Dawn
by EmiliaMartakis
Summary: Historical! Victorian! Hetalia. (NorDen) When Lukas Bondevik's family travels to Copenhagen from Norway to secure the betrothal of his younger sister to the son of a Danish lord, not all goes as planned- in a strange twist of fate, Lukas and the son, Lars Hansen, fall in love instead. But when their relationship is pushed to the limits, will they, and their love, survive?
1. PROLOGUE

_Lars_

How does the romance begin?

I mused over it for a while. My romance began inconsiderately. It was so easy, just to begin it. The kiss that changes a state of mind and leads to the unavoidable. The agreement of bodies, the agreement of souls. And that awareness that you're doing something illegal.

But how does the romance end? This question tormented me like hell. I didn't know the answer but I would give everything to know it.

It was close to ten o'clock and I knew he was waiting for my call. The whole manor still wasn't asleep. I took a look at the enormous bookcase made of oak. There were many voluminous books. The Aeneid. Macbeth. Voltaire's Letters. Books for the intellectuals. There, on the wall nearby, honours from the army. Beneath, my scribblings for the next composition.

And for what do I need this all when he is not with me?

I recalled everything I've learned, everything I managed to learn for these twenty-eight years of my life. I looked at my reflection in the window, huffed on it with the heat of my breath and drew some mysterious sign. That was a face of a man in the window, a tired face of some man that led so many different lives, desolate from the knowledge that his situation won't change in the next years.

All of a sudden I recalled myself on one of these warm nights I spent with Lukas in the library that belonged to my parents. He was reading aloud. It was the beautiful story of Anna Karenina and Count Vronsky. When he finished, he had tears in his beautiful blue eyes, though he never really cried, not him.

"Is it going to end up like this...?" he asked. I kept silent. We kissed but it didn't change anything.

I was afraid that the verdict had been already pronounced. That we were doomed to stay in a void in perpetuity, to toss about between one meeting and another. Only in the night could we be together for these couple of hours.

I lived for these short moments, I counted time with them. I couldn't think about any other things yet, and I knew he couldn't stand a thought that when we didn't see each other. When I was with his sister, my wife. When I kissed her, touched her and made love with her. Not even caring for her at all.

Probably that thought saved him from losing his mind.

We didn't belong to each other and I was painfully aware that we never will.

* * *

><p><em>Hey guys! This story comes from an RP between my good friend Vera and myself. She writes for Lars and I write for Lukas and take care of general editing. We really appreciate any and all reviews, favourites, and follows. Thank you so much for the support! :) <em>


	2. CHAPTER 1

1

_Lars_

November, 1895

It was a very rainy day in Copenhagen.  
>I was staring through the window, sitting in a comfortable armchair at the warmth of flames in the fireplace. With a decanter of vodka in one hand and a cigarette in the other one. My dearest sister Lovise was with me, keeping me company.<p>

She could understand my situation better than anyone else.

Scarcely did I come back from my journey to Russian Empire a few days ago, that our parents announced that they had found a fiancée for me. In the first moment I laughed because it sounded like some kind of unfunny joke. But they weren't kidding and that was a problem. My father was this kind of open-minded and intelligent person, but he treated the issue of my wedding very seriously. My mother was more restrained and she didn't spare me while talking about the advantages of my future wife and scolding me for neglecting such an important issue as the marriage.

We had a very long row since I was already twenty eight and after my previous marriage I hadn't even thought about settling down once again. Those memories were still haunting me but my father didn't care- he knew better. He and mother stated that I have to set up my household before I turn thirty and have male children. I was their only son and I had to take the responsibility for Hansen family.

They showed me a photograph of her. It changed my reluctance a bit; she was the most beautiful maiden I have ever seen. Emilia Bondevik, because that was her name, had delicate features, long white-blond hair falling freely on her porcelain shoulders, two bright blue eyes that looked shyly at the lens. She came from Norway and their family was exalted there. A family with money and traditions.

A perfect girl for me, stated my mother.

But somehow all these things didn't change my mind. That the ceremony was going to take place on the sixth of December - the day of my birth - also didn't comfort me. My parents thought it was the perfect date and that the marriage would be the best present for me.

And to make the things worse, Emilia and her family have decided to visit us in Copenhagen to fix the details of the wedding. My first emotion was paranoia. I wasn't prepared for that.

Only one day was left for their visit. That's why I was drinking.

"Let's hope for the best." Lovise was trying to cheer me up. "Maybe she will turn out to be okay for you. Oh, please, Lars, don't worry so much."

She stood behind me and placed her fingers on my temples. I closed my eyes; it was very relaxing.

"That girl is not the problem." I grabbed her hands and looked up at her face. Lovise was so similar to our father, they both had green eyes, whilst I had blue, just like our mother. "The problem is that I'm not willing to get married right now, when the memories and wounds are still painful," I add quietly. Lovise hugs me and rested her chin on my head.  
>"I know, Lars, I know," she whispered as I inhaled the cigarette.<br>"The Bondeviks must be on the ferry now," I mumbled, not looking forward to the tomorrow.


	3. CHAPTER 2

2

_Lukas_

November, 1895

"You can't be serious," I had scoffed, though, even then, in my heart I knew it was true. We- my family and I- were traveling to Copenhagen, Denmark to meet the family of my sister's fiancé, some obscure Dane whose name I had only heard in passing before now. Before this. Before my parents- my father- simply decided to give Emilia away, to practically sell her to these people of whom I know nothing. My sister, she's still a child, too young for the world, and certainly too young for marriage. Even now, when she turns to me, soft blue eyes wide with wonder and elation at the prospect of her new life, the one she herself knows nothing of, in all sense, I see a little girl, shyly smiling as she hides behind our mother's skirts in the face of company, clutching her favorite little doll from years past. I'll see her that way the rest of my life, this I know. Having grown up with her, known her her whole life-and only I can claim this right, our parents never paid us any mind beyond our manners and appearances- she will always be that little girl to me. A little girl in a wedding dress, given to a strange man in a strange land.

"Look over there, Lukas," Emilia cries joyfully, pointing at a statue erected in some park. "Who is that man, do you think?" She clutches her bonnet to her head, dressed in a brocade gown with an ermine wrap. Pretty as morning, she is, even without trying.

"That's Hans Christian Andersen," I reply, eyes trained to her. I've noticed a few of the men here giving her appreciative looks- why Father did not send us with a few men, I shall never know. Some things are simply common sense. "He was a Danish author, famous for his fairy-stories."

She smiles. "Fairy-stories? How delightful." After giving the statue a quick examination, she moves on, heading in the direction of the gardens. I start to follow her before she turns back to me and rolls her eyes. "You do not have to follow me, bror. I shall be perfectly safe."

I sigh and take a seat on a stone bench by a cluster of bushes. "I just worry, that's all."

She nods, then smiles a little again. "I know. But it's unnecessary. I'll be back," she says, and with that, Emilia flounces off towards the park gardens. I watch her retreating figure as it slowly disappears. Now alone, I don't seem to know what to do. I glance around, fiddle with the last button on my suit-coat. Over the past few days, my whole life has been revolving around her, as she is to be married off soon. After her, I suppose I myself am to have some poor girl from another wealthy family given to me as my lawfully wedded wife, to live with, have children with, as I assume my father's business. Not a particularly pleasing topic in any regard, but we all know our roles, though I suppose that includes Emilia. At the very least, however, I hope my wife will be pretty, if not an especially witty or intelligent girl.

"Ex-excuse me, sir, but w-would you like to b-buy a flower?"

Startled, I turn around sharply to see a young girl, dressed in what seems to be scrap cloth rudely stitched together to resemble a coat, staring at me like I'm some kind of god in the flesh who has just appeared before her eyes. Ah, another one of these girls. Poor, simple folk they are, taken in so by me. Yes, my sister is very beautiful, but she is not the only one in the family noted for their looks, however vain you now think me. I can assure you that I not, by far, the most vain of my family.

"No thank you," I reply pleasantly in Norwegian, not even bothering to try to reply in my somewhat poor Danish (I said I was not vain!). To be fair to myself however, my family and I did only arrive this morn in Copenhagen, coming out to meet the bridegroom and his family. I suppose I can asses for myself the kind of man she will be marrying, and endure their attempts to pass their daughter, if they have one, onto me. What an agreement between our families should that be the case- Father is set for life! how good for the family. The occasion is this evening.

"Now go away, girl," I continue in the same tone. "I have nothing for you here. Get on with you." I have things to see tonight.


	4. CHAPTER 3

3

_Lars_

"I'm off for some time," I say, putting on a warm coat. "I have to think it all over."

Lovise understands. She nods and reminds me to take a scarf. I tend to forget it every time I'm outside.

"Don't be out for too long," she says, worried. "Our parents will come later on to talk over tomorrow's meeting. And it's cold."

"Don't worry about me, kære," I bring myself to smile and kiss her on the cheek. "I'll be back soon."

The doorman opens the door for me and I walk outside to meet the cold Northern wind and rain. I put on my leather gloves and start marching, even though the weather conditions aren't good. I am a typical introvert; I need some time alone, to think the things over, wonder. My father hates that feature of mine, he says that I'm too nostalgic and pessimistic. "Goethe destroyed happiness", he tends to say often.

But I'm like that and I can't change. I don't want to change. Thanks to these negative emotions, I'm able to write. Paradoxically, the sadness is a great catalyst when it comes to artistic skills.

I have always been a pessimist, very romantic inside and I tend to alienate myself. Mostly, but not always. This came along with being in the army. Things I have seen during the missions caused endless nervous breakdowns and sleepless nights. That's why I started writing - to handle with all these emotions rumbling and whirling inside my head.

I go to a pub. Even though I know I should be more sober than ever, to meet with my parents and with my fiancée tomorrow morning, I'm acting in defiance of everything.

I sit in the corner and order akvavit and dark beer, typical Scandinavian spirits. When the waiter brings my liquors, I drink beer first, then aquavit from a shot glass. It's solid and leaves nice aftertaste. As I sit and order next turn, I start thinking about my future wife. Emilia Bondevik. I'm still angry at that intrigue my parents prepared, but on the other hand Emilia seems to be an interesting person. So many questions appear in my head: Is her hair really so white? What's her voice like? Have her lips ever been kissed by anyone? What are her character and temper like…?

I want to postpone my return to my manor as long as I can because I know what is going to happen. I will be told the same things over and over again. How I should dress, how I should behave, that I shouldn't mention my ex-wife or anything connected with her…

When I start to think about it, I immediately get a headache.

My wife. The only thought about me and her makes me shiver and not because I'm cold or she was so beautiful. I just don't like to go back to these memories and I'd rather avoid talking, or even thinking about it.

After four parts of aquavit I know I'm already drunk enough to come back and face my parents.  
>When I leave the pub, it's already dark outside. I know it's cold but after so much alcohol I feel a pleasant warmth all over my body. I keep smiling under my breath and try to get back home.<p>

When I finally come back, the servants take my coat and I immediately hear my mother's raised voice:  
>"Lars, dear young man, where have you been?!" She addresses me in English and I decide to speak in Danish, just to make her angry.<p>

"Outside," I mumble, when I walk in the living room. The first thing I do is light a cigarette. My mother glares at me, angry. She hates back-talk; the same with my father.

"I haven't raised you to act like this," my mother snorts. "Just look at you, you're completely drunk when your fiancée is arriving tomorrow morning, along with her family!"

"I don't care," I say, inhaling. Lovise looks at me, worried. "I'm old enough, Mother, I can handle it myself."

"Erik, have you heard that?" She addresses my father. "We don't have to help you, Lars."

"Your mother is right, son," he says. "We chose the best maiden for you in the whole Danish Kingdom and…"

"I didn't ask for it!" I hit the roof all of a sudden. Jesus fuckin' Christ, they're talking to me as if I was a little boy! "I don't want to get married now, not after all this shit that has happened!"

As I lose my temper, I stand up and decide to leave the room. I slam the door and go sit in the kitchen. It is Lovise who comes to me after a couple of minutes. She finds me at the table, completely numb and immersed in thoughts. I startle when she touches my hand.  
>"Is everything fine, Lars?" She asks.<p>

"Nothing's fine, Lovise, as you see," I snort, staring out the window.


	5. CHAPTER 4

4

_Lukas_

"Hurry, darling, we leave in a few minutes!"

My mother's voice resounds throughout the hall of our temporary home, the mansion of another of my father's business friends. Business friends, those he has much of, though many of them are or were in his debt before, so is it truly friendship? I tend to think not. I step out into the hall, buttoning the last clasp on the wrists of my suit, and promptly examining the shine of the gold against the black.

"Where are Father and Emilia?" I ask, glancing over at her.

She shrugs delicately. "Getting ready, I suppose. The staff here is much more lax than our own; I shall have to speak with your father about it. My lady's maid even had to show one of the servants how to fasten a corset properly! This all comes from not living with any female company- that man needs to remarry. A wife could liven up this dour place," she adds with a disparaging look at the stag head mounted on the wall above us. Her thin lips are pursed to a red line, pale cheeks tinted with rouge and graying blonde hair pulled back into an elaborate coif. She holds a black lace fan and is dressed in a deep burgundy silk Victorian gown, the latest fashion in England.

"I'm sure his mistress would be more than happy to move in with him," I suggest delicately, assuming an innocent look.

My mother throws me an annoyed look, disapproval clear in her blue eyes, the exact shape and shade of my own. "If we had raised you properly, this sort of nonsense would never have left your tongue. Shame on you, son. I thought that the governesses and tutors could have instilled some sort of respect and etiquette in you and your sister, but it seems I was wrong. Even the French ones seem to have failed on the likes of you."

I smile at her woodenly. "A shame indeed, dear Mother. Perhaps if you had set eyes on the likes of my sister and myself more than twice a week, we would have been children more to your taste."

She flushes to almost the same shade as her dress. "Do not disrespect me, boy. Your father and I had our reasons. Now quick, compose yourself into something fit for company-your sister and father are coming. It would be unseemly for them to see us in this way," she hisses to me, arranging her features into a smile. It is rather disturbing sometimes in all the ways we are alike, my mother and I-looks, manner, personality. Perhaps that is why we detest each other so.

I nod once, and turn to look as Emilia and my father walk into the hall.

"Dear sister," I call to her. "You are a vision to my sore eyes. Do come closer, so that I may see and admire." The glance my lovely mother shoots me from the corner of her eye nearly causes me to laugh aloud from the sheer incredulity of it. Across the hall, Emilia smiles and picks up her skirts, hustling over towards me.

"Do you like it?" she asks joyfully. "I thought you might; this is a wonderful color on me, isn't it?"

She twirls in her new dress, pretty as a picture. I nod in response, though she could make even a suit look good on her, most likely. White-blonde hair curled down her back and over her shoulders, with a beautiful midnight blue evening gown and a pearl necklace, a gift from Father-she looks breathtaking, and I hope her betrothed agrees. But how can he not?

"You're looking well, son," my father says, a slightly pained expression on his face as he checks his pocket-watch before looking me up and down. "Healthy."

"The boy is too slim," Mother interjects, an infuriatingly knowing expression on her face, though I can't imagine why. "And hardly like a boy at all-look at those eyes! Just like my own, they are, down to the color and length of the lashes. He's too pretty, Jensen, no girls will desire him for a husband, and where will that leave us?"

"No girls will desire me?" I ask her softly, smirking a little. "If only you knew, Mother. Why, even this very morning-" She gives me a venomous look, and motions for me to shut up.

Father looks me up and down again, piercing green eyes behind his spectacles lingering on my face. "Too pretty, you say?" he asks. I raise my eyebrows in agreement. "Not when he grows a beard, like every man should. Give it time, Benedikte, he'll grow out of it."

Emilia, displeased by the lack of attention she's receiving, speaks up, saying, "We really must go now. Come Mother, Father, Lukas. Our carriage awaits us, and my betrothed."


	6. CHAPTER 5

5

_Lars_

It's a very heated atmosphere from the earliest hours in the biggest and the most presentable manor belonging to my parents.

I'm wearing grey coat with covered buttons and a matching waistcoat along with dark trousers, a short turnover shirt collar and a floppy bow tie. The wind winnows my hair and it's messy again, though I really tried to have a proper hairdo. But in fact, I've never had one; my hair has always been messy.  
>I'm smoking a cigarette and my father glances at his pocket watch every now and then.<p>

"We sent the carriage for them," says my father. I want to say something ironic but I bite my tongue and keep silent.

"Lovise, are you ready?!" I hear my mother shouting from downstairs at my sister. I stub my cigarette out and decide to call on my sister.

"I'll check on her," I say to my mother and walk upstairs, to Lovise's room. I knock tentatively.

"Come in!" She calls back and I enter the room—her lady's maid exits at the same time. Lovise is standing in front of the mirror in the most beautiful dress I have ever seen. With her bouffant hairdo and hourglass figure she looks like one of those ideal Gibson Girl models. She turns around and looks at me. "How do I look...?"

"If I wasn't your brother, I'd be dying to marry you," I chuckle, leaning against the door frame.

She twirls and giggles. She is so young, only eighteen, and already so many rich men want to propose to her. For the time being our father still refuses them, but I know who he is keeping an eye on; one Swedish aristocrat, second cousin of the Swedish king, is looking for a wife, and my father means to provide him with one.

"I want to dance!" She says suddenly, turning on the gramophone she keeps on a stand nearby. I agree, amused, and we bow and start dancing some strange version of waltz, doubling up with laughter.

"Lars, Lovise, what are you doing?!"The sudden appearance of our mother spoils the fun.

"Oh mum, we were just practicing the waltz, that's all," says Lovise, chuckling.

"Go downstairs, the Bondeviks will arrive at any moment," she says and leaves the room. When she walks away, I say, "Sometimes I think we were adopted."

We laugh again and then Lovise grabs my arm. As we walk downstairs Father casts a glare at us. We're still giggling when all of a sudden we can hear our butler saying that the carriage with the Bondeviks has arrived.

"Behave," warns our father. I run through my hair with my fingers and deadpan, but only slightly.

"We'll be fine." And Lovise smiles at me in such a joyful way that I can't help returning it.


	7. CHAPTER 6

6

_Lukas_

"We're here," my father says as the carriage rumbles to a stop. He pulls back the curtains on the window, glancing out, his eyes flicking over the Hansen residence. Beside me, Emilia bites the corner of her lip, her nervousness tangible as her eyes roam around the inside of the carriage for the fortieth, fiftieth time. I look at her from the plush seat opposite her and Father.

"It'll go well," I tell her, my voice flat from the repetition. In all honesty though, it doesn't matter-the match is made, they are getting married unless she's found especially displeasing, which won't happen.

"Time to meet your betrothed, my dear," Mother says to her as Father steps out of the carriage-the whole cabin moves from the loss of his weight- and then extends a hand to her. After that, he helps my sister out, and then I finally climb out myself. The footman, who decided only recently to make an appearance, shuts the door behind me and hops back onto the carriage, driving it to the stables. We stand before the entrance, all wrapped up in furs and the finest wool available, when the door is opened and a man, dressed in a suit much like my father's own, strides out towards us.

"Jensen," he calls. "Jensen, you must come inside."

Father nods and laughs amiably as Mother slides her hand through his arm and they set off, following what must be Lord Hansen inside the mansion. I glance at Emilia- her eyes are set forward determinedly- before offering her my arm. Mouth twitching, she takes it, and we soon follow. Stepping inside the house, it's a lot to take in at once-not so very different from our own in the rich outskirts of Oslo, but it certainly has an interesting feel. And the people coming to us are certainly interesting as well. The mother, Hansen's lady wife, and my own mother kiss each other on both cheeks, then begin to chat with each other about little silly things, such as the color of the drapes or the state of lady's maids these days, an endless exchange of false complements flowing between them.

Standing near her mother, a young woman has her eyes on me- a pretty creature most definitely, but not holding any particular interest for me. If I want pretty, all I must do is look at my sister. However, I smile at her charmingly, kiss her hand, inquire her name and the like, simply going through the forms of chivalry and graciousness. Mother is looking at us in the corner of her eye-some sort of scheme in the making, no doubt. Best to keep this short then. I excuse myself from her and take a step back towards my sister.

"What do you think so far?" I breathe to her. Her eyes flick up to me, wide and very blue.

She holds her lace fan over her mouth to hide her words. "I don't know. I'd say it's too early in the evening to tell anything about the family. We'll see how the dinner goes, I suppose."

I nod, discreetly, and look elsewhere, clicking the heels of my shoes together. My gaze falls upon a man standing in the corner, his hands clasped together firmly, but gracefully. A grey coat with a matching silk waistcoat adorns him, a large, artfully arranged bow tie draws the eye up to his face. He happens to be looking in my direction at the moment, his dark blue eyes, nearly almond-shaped, are trained to mine. For a reason I cannot name, it makes me feel distinctly uncomfortable; I glance back at my sister, but she is talking to the young woman- Lovise if I do recall-and is not facing the man. Out of simple curiosity, I glance towards him again- his piercing eyes are still there, still looking in my direction.

For once, I am not sure what to do. It's not as if I haven't had attention directed at me before, but with young, silly girls it's quite different; I can always read them, discern their thoughts fairly quickly, but not so with him. It seems the man is an academic based on his carriage and fashion-and of course, the needing of a shave. Blond stubble tinted with a hint of brown shadows his jaw and along the top of his neck; something should have been done about that. Is this the man my sister is to be married to? I assume as much, and with a sudden spurt of boldness, I walk over and introduce myself.

"Excuse me sir, may I ask your name?" I ask him. I have to look up- he's several centimetres taller than myself, and his gaze is even more intense and startling this close.


	8. CHAPTER 7

7

_Lars_

And finally that moment comes.  
>My expectations don't match what I see. First, it's the man, the head of the Bondevik family. Tall, well-built, but still quite plump. He struts heavily, dressed in elegant dark fur. When our servant takes the fur from him, I see a black-grey waistcoat that is fitted tightly to his belly. It's quite funny but his facial expression doesn't show any emotion.<p>

The Lady Bondevik is nearly his opposite; she is elegant and petite, her hair tied in a severe bun, eyes beautiful but a bit blurry, dark blue, almost violet. She definitely has too much make-up on her face but my mother did the same, not paying any mind to the fact that she looks like a buffoon. The dress of the Lady is long, the same with her gloves that reach her elbow. When I look into her face I'm sure she used to be a beauty when she was younger.

And then I spot the girl that I am supposed to marry in a month.

In reality she looks even younger than in the photograph, and much prettier. She is beautiful, her pale skin shines like porcelain and her bright blue eyes look at the world with a curiosity of a child.

Because she _is_ still a child. She looks like a fourteen-year-old girl. I don't feel disappointed, it's not that. I rather feel... like a father for her, even though it's only nine year age gap between us, not twenty nine (what still could happen). How can I look at her as at my wife, a woman, when she is still a little girl?

And when I look at my age (well, okay, a bit younger, people usually give me 24 years)...?

It's not my fiancée who takes my breath away.

It's a young man who does it, a man of Lady Bondevik's eyes. So it must be my future wife's brother. Why has nobody told me about him, that I will be having such a beautiful - I think it's the most proper epithet for him - brother-in-law?

I observe him sideways, he looks uptight, confused with the whole situation. When he takes off his coat, I can get a full view at his slim body. In that moment, he spots me. I don't withdraw, I endure that intense look in those Pacific eyes. I drown and drown in them forever until he approaches me while I still stand, stunned by his beauty. Is it even possible to be so beautiful, isn't it a sin...? His features are delicate, almost like they should belong in a woman's face.

Of course, I have seen many beautiful men, I have slept with some- in the literary community it's not much of a bizarre thing. Love is love, it really doesn't matter whom you desire. Of course, I don't flaunt it, I keep it secret because loving a man is still punishable by law and I am not a person who would be able to survive in prison for a long time.

I still remember the tragic love between Arthur Rimbaud and Paul Verlaine - I even met them during my visit to Paris. I didn't know they were together; however, I suspected something. But only two years ago their affair was found out, and Paul went to jail. My parents considered his deed as gross and thought it was right to punish him like that. I wrote a letter to him, sending it discreetly but I still haven't gotten his response.

When he approaches and asks my name, I watch his perfect face once again. There's something mysterious in him, it really makes me want to reveal his secret.

"Lars Søren Hansen. Let's be on first name terms with each other," I introduce myself, smirking. "All in all, we're going to be family soon, aren't we?" I ask rhetorically, adding some irony too. When I see a small smile on his face, I know he understands.

"And your name is...?"


	9. CHAPTER 8

8

_Lukas_

"Lars Søren Hansen?" He raises an eyebrow at me, coolly to match his smirk. Again, I can't shake this feeling of nerves and. . .awkwardness. . .No, that's the last thing I want to come across as. This is going to be my brother-in-law, for heaven's sake! I watch him carefully, trying to discern what sort of man he is. At the moment, he seems unconventional, with that sort of greeting.

"Lukas Bondevik," I tell him, and raise my eyes from the bottom of his chin to meet his own. "But I would personally save first name terms for those that are more acquainted, wouldn't you? Emilia," I say to her, looking back over my shoulder. "Come here a moment, my dear. Let us introduce you to the younger Sir Hansen, your betrothed." My eyes flick back to him for a split second to see how he takes my slight, but he merely raises his eyebrows for a moment before looking at my sister, whom I take by the hand and lead over.

"This is the lady Emilia Bondevik, my sister." She smiles and curtsies dutifully, but from the corner of my eye I can see her shoot me a quick glare. This is clearly not how she was expecting to be introduced to her future husband. I can practically feel Mother's eyes boring into the back of my head- Father should be doing this, not me, but something had to be done. And who better than I to do so? "Lady Emilia, this is Sir Lars Hansen, heir to the Lars estates and businesses, if I am correct?"

Young Sir Hansen bows slightly and leans to kiss her hand. "My lady," he says to her charmingly. "I am ever so pleased to make your acquaintance." She simpers, flattered by his behaviour. But as soon as she looks away, I can feel his eyes on me again. _Min Gud_, between his sister and himself. . .this family must have a sort of staring complex. However used to the eyes of the young ladies I am, as I stated before, the eyes of the young men have been much more of a rarity. A highly uncomfortable rarity. Feeling his eyes, it's all I can do not to look back-for what else am I supposed to do? It's not as if one can express their feelings and tell them to stop.

"My lady, Sir Hansen, I'll take my leave now. Please, continue." I make a small, stiff bow before turning my back to them. For once, Emilia doesn't protest, as charmed as she is by this man. Funny how it seems to be the opposite way for myself.


	10. CHAPTER 9

9

_Lars_

Lukas. I taste his name in my thoughts. It sounds good, suits him well. Lukas is taken from Latin, it means light. The Swedes consider Lukas as "the one who brings the light". The same light he brought to me, to my dark life full of spleens and depression.

When he calls his sister, I am disappointed. I want to talk to him more and more, I don't want to finish. I would be able to stare at his lips forever and dream how it would taste to kiss them.

Have I really just thought that?

I force my lips to smile and kiss the delicate hand of my fiancée. She blushes in a pretty way but still - I'm not charmed by my future wife. She is still a girl, not a woman to me. Maybe in ten years she will get some of the traits, but now…

Emilia seems to have exactly opposite impression as I do. She tries to be serious and control herself but her body language says that she liked me. Her nervous gestures, biting her lower lip and touching her hair - I know such female language through and through. I prefer it when a woman - or a man - is mysterious, appears to be unapproachable. I like to win affection, quickies don't really interest me.

And Lukas is just this type; he is a deep one, difficult to be figured out.

"I'm glad you've already met each other," Lady Bondevik butts in all of a sudden. I bow and kiss her hand too. "It is good to meet you at last, young man."

"It is my pleasure, Madame," I say, smiling gently.

"Have you met my husband already? Jensen," she calls the big man and we greet each other with a firm handshake and he also pats me on the shoulder, smiling.

"You will be a good part to my daughter, I am sure," he says, all of a sudden. I don't know why he says so, but I smile. I know I won't be a good husband since I didn't take a shine to my fiancée. And well, I have already cheated on her. Only in my thoughts, but still.


	11. CHAPTER 10

10

_Lukas_

At this moment, I think I can hardly bear to stay for the rest of the evening. Every time that Hansen looks my way, it just gets more and more difficult for myself. Sitting across from him on the dining table as the lamb is served, he regards me with those intense blue eyes, almost contemplative in their deepness. Beside me, Emilia smiles at him shyly every time he does this-she thinks he's looking at her. Perhaps he is, I tell myself, and it's completely normal to do so, to look at one's fiancée. But as soon as I risk a glance in his direction, I know this is not the case.

"...and as I was saying. . .Lukas? Lukas?" I start, turning to Lady Hansen and blinking rapidly. "Are you alright, my dear?" she asks, concern evident in her tone and furrowed brow. "You look a little. . .peaked."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mother glaring in my direction. 'You will not mess this up for me,' her eyes seem to say. "I'm quite alright, my lady, though I am grateful for your concern. May I ask you to repeat your question?" I ask graciously.

And so dinner went; an odd array of complements, manners, secret, dark looks, and the occasional awkward moment when I forgot myself. And after that came the dancing, where I shared a dance with my sister, Lovise, and even the lady Hansen once and young Hansen danced with Emilia and my mother. Every time we passed each other I made a point of avoiding him. And after the dancing came desert and the silly pleasantries of the women and finishing of business from the men. As I sit down next to Emilia now, I hiss in her ear, "Ask your fiancé what he does, and for a tour of the house. I want to see how you'll be living here."

Her large blue eyes flick to mine for a moment before she nods, a very slight movement. After all, it's not as if she doesn't want to see it herself. "My dear, would you mind telling me about your line of employment-what you do to pass the time? And I do hope this is not an imposition upon yourself, but I would be ever so grateful if I could receive a tour of the estate. My brother can chaperone us," Emilia adds, out of the need for decency.

It would not be proper for a young lady such as herself to be alone with a man, but with this particular one, it seems almost unnecessary. I smirk slightly, amused and shocked by my own thoughts. Did I honestly just think that? _For shame, Lukas, for shame_. Behind her, I touch my champagne glass to my lips and take a small sip of the bubbly liquid, imported from France and no doubt expensive, and watch his response, smile slipping from my lips.

Emilia folds her hands, her own glass untouched beside her on the elegant table as she waits for him to reply.


	12. CHAPTER 11

11

_Lars_

I don't know if I should be happy or scared.

The evening goes perfectly fine. And I should be happy about that. My fiancée seems to be more and more charmed by my persona and it also should make me happy.

But I am not. I want to go to the pub and get drunk. But it's not the solution; Paul Verlaine drank too much and he was abusive towards his wife. And, as I heard, he shot Arthur while they were in the hotel. Alcohol makes a beast of a man.

We're sitting on the patio, with the music being played from the gramophone. I drink a lot of champagne and smoke good Cuban cigars imported directly from Havana. All of a sudden Emilia asks me about my profession and to have a visit around our manor. Before I can say something, my mother butts in:  
>"Dear, in fact, we will have another manor where you and Lars will be living in. It's very similar to this one and only a couple of streets from here, close to Tivoli gardens," she says. "My son will show you around with pleasure, won't you?"<p>

"Of course," I say, blowing the smoke and taking a discreet look at Lukas again. To take eyes off him is a battle itself, impossible to be won. I stand up and give her my hand. "Let me help you."

"Can I come with you too?" asks Lovise with our cocker spaniel on her lap.

"Of course, dear sister," I say. "I hope you don't mind my sister, my dear?" I ask Emilia, who smiles at me and shakes her beautiful head.

"Of course not," she replies, taking my arm. "Lukas, will you come with lady Lovise…?"

I bite my lower lip and lead my fiancée upstairs.

"Well, my kære, you asked about my profession. So, I used to be in army for almost five years and I left it with the rank of the major," I reply, according to the truth. "But, in fact, I have always loved literature and art itself. I write, quite successfully, to be honest." I smile and see that Emilia's eyes get bigger and bigger with my every word. "I write both poems and novels, but am more successful in poetry. You may have read something from my works since I write under a pseudonym."

"Oh, dear, that is absolutely incredible," she says. "My dear brother and I also love literature, especially Russian and French ones, don't we, Lukas?" she asks with a smile. He nods in agreement. "I would love to hear some of your works, dear. Would you recite something for me…?"

"Of course, as soon as we come back to the living room," I say, opening the door to the first room. "This is the room of my dear sister, Lovise."


	13. CHAPTER 12

12

_Lukas_

I duck my head into the room of his sister, Lovise. The young lady herself is on my arm, and according to a look from my mother, we make quite a handsome pair. I suppose we do- both tall, blond, blue eyes, and she's very pretty. Unless she's already promised to someone, I can assume that we shall be married. Perhaps it shall be a double wedding- young Hansen and Emilia, and then lady Lovise and myself. That would be quite strange.

My sister and her fiancé walk up a little ahead of us, which gives me the opportunity to watch them for a change. She is really so small and young-looking compared to him, like a little babe. He said he spent 5 years in the army, and is now a writer-what sort of man gives up a promising career to _write?_ By the way he was describing himself, he sounds good at it, but one never knows until they have seen the work. At least the staring makes more sense now-_no, don't think that!_ My my, another one of these naughty thoughts. I smile down at Lovise. "My dear, shall we go explore for ourselves? I imagine that you have many interesting facets of knowledge about this place yourself."

She smiles slowly and nods a little. "Well, I suppose I do. But it would not be proper to leave a man and his betrothed alone like this." _I don't think she has anything to worry about_, I want to say, but I would rather die than have any of these thoughts cross my lips. Both Emilia and young Hansen look back at us- Emilia's gaze one of nervousness and yet joy, Hansen's one of the same mysterious intensity I've been seeing all evening. It's becoming too much to take from him, and I have no idea why. It's not as if I haven't been stared at before, but this sort of. . .I don't know. . .

"Excuse me," I say, surprising myself. "Lord Hansen, may I have a quick word with you?"

Wow. Did I actually ask to speak with him? Emilia's raised eyebrows confirm this. But this needs to stop. I don't know why, it just. . .does.


	14. CHAPTER 13

13

_Lars_

When Lukas asks to have a word with me, I lurch for a second. What would he like to talk about…? Maybe… he discovered? Oh, it's impossible, however, it's always been hard for me to hide my fascination when I liked someone.

That erotic eye contact I have with him can be too much. I should definitely start to control myself more.

"Of course," I reply, quieter than usual. "Only when we finish the visit around the house. It doesn't behoove to leave the ladies alone, does it?"

He agrees with me but I can see he's not very content about it. I quietly sigh with a relief, I gained some more time to think about some excuse. What could I say? 'I'm sorry for the staring but since I saw you the only thing I can think of is to kiss your lips'… well, once it worked, when I travelled to England but my lover back then was very unique and only surprise methods would work with him.

After the tour we come back to the living room again. Lady Bondevik asks her daughter "how does she like the house?" I stop listening to the others as I sit at the table and the servant pours me some champagne. I'm drowning in my thoughts until my father gives me a gentle nudge.

"Let's toast the happy couple of my son and beautiful maiden Emilia," Father says and raises his glass up. We follow him and clink our glasses with a clatter. I feel my stomach coming up to my throat. Happy couple. Jesus fuckin' Christ. I have just met that girl. I can say nothing about her. Literally. The marriage is an institution and I'm not ready to become a part of that.

As Napoleon said, _the acknowledgement of the marriage as indissoluble is a provocation for the crime._  
>And I couldn't agree more.<p>

"In our family," my father continues, "we have arranged only happy marriages. And I can assure you, Sir and Lady Bondevik, that Emilia and Lars will be happy together."

"Without a doubt." The proud Sir Bondevik smiles at his only daughter.

Sure! We will be as happy as hell! I want to shout, but I only tell the servant to pour me some aquavit.

"Dear father, mother," Emilia addresses her parents, "my betrothed confessed that he is a widely popular writer in Europe. And…"

"What a surprise," says Lady Bondevik. "Is there any chance I read anything written by you, mister Hansen?"

"Yes, of course," I say, fixing my eyes into the glass. "However, I write under a pseudonym."

"Oh, what a timidity," Lady Bondevik smiles. "All the authors are always so discontent about their works."

"Son, please," my mother butts in. "Recite something for your parents-in-law. I'm sure they would like to know what you write, exactly."

"Of course," says Sir Bondevik. "Go ahead, son."

"With pleasure," I mumble and sigh. They're waiting and I slowly light a cigarette, inhale and blow out the smoke. I then close my eyes and the words slowly fall from my lips:

Perish, my heart - what to live for? -  
>None of your yearnings will ever come true -<br>Rage, until the inner fire burns you out,  
>And wither, just like the leaves.<p>

Be silent and die. How many times have  
>you beat in vain; how many times before<br>have you cursed your frenzied ecstasies,  
>and then kept silent again - proud and lonely.<p>

But that dreary and drowsy night  
>you cannot keep quiet, the delirium of rebel hits you,<br>from your silence you rise from Gehenna,  
>a dreadful ban on your lips.<p>

If that ban turns into fulmination,  
>the rocks will crumble and the sea will burn,<br>The vault of heaven, perpetually still, will tremble,  
>when the stars fall down into the abyss.<p>

When I open my eyes, I look at everyone. They all seem stunned. I stop my eyes at Lukas for a longer time. His eyes are big and he sits still - I'm sure he didn't expect such a poem.

"Oh, dear." I can hear Emilia's whisper. I glance at her and I can see her blue eyes full of tears. "That was just so beautiful. I cannot find the proper words to express it."

"Thank you, my dear." I smile gently at her.


	15. CHAPTER 14

14

_Lukas_

As the poem comes to an end, I look at him. Now that was not quite what I was expecting to hear from such a man. For once, I am the one looking at him, my own eyes wide, lips parted in an expression of surprise. When Hansen said he was a writer, I did not know he meant quite like this. Amazing, his poetry is amazing. I hear Emilia's voice as if from behind glass; clear, but not quite there. "Oh dear," she says. "That was just so beautiful. I cannot find the proper words to express it."

I find myself disagreeing with her. The poem, something of that sort, that nature, something like that cannot be beautiful in my mind. Amazing, soul-wrenching, yes, but beautiful is not the word I would use to describe it. My eyes search his face as he replies to my sister with a soft smile. He had it memorized, which means that either it was new or he has said it quite often- the latter seems more likely to me. So a regular at the literature scene- perhaps he is frequent at the poets' symposiums. Though not a writer myself, I do enjoy listening to other's work and have frequented these sort of meetings before. Huh. I shall have to ask him about his involvement in the like.

I swirl the amber contents of my glass around, lost in my thoughts as my sister, mother, and father begin to pepper the Hansens with questions about Lars' work and the family and everything else under the sun. Lars is quite the interesting one: former army major, talented poet, and now my future brother-in-law. I risk a glance up at him. He seems to be taking all the questions and attention in stride, but I suppose he would be used to this sort of thing. Wait- when did he become Lars and not Hansen? Over the course of a single evening, I've thought about him so much that his name had even changed in my mind. That's. . .abominable.

"You wished to speak?" he asks me suddenly, or perhaps it is only sudden to myself. Either way, I straighten up in my chair, slightly flustered at being caught unawares. Our parents are deep in conversation with each other, and Emilia with Lovise. "Ah, yes," I manage, and stand. "Is there a more private place?"

He nods in understanding, and leads me away from the living room, back the way we came from the tour, to the library. I walk inside, looking about in wonder, as he shuts the heavy oaken doors behind us. There are books everywhere, books of every title, author, and place, from Charlotte Brontë to a selection of poetry by Alfred, Lord Tennyson to Arabian Nights, books beyond imagination. A roaring fire sparks and crackles, giving a warm, orange glow to the place, from a large fireplace behind a desk, probably where Lars (I've given up on trying to keep a sense of formality) writes. All in all, it is a very pleasant atmosphere. I could lose myself in here forever.

"You wanted to speak with me?" he reminds me, standing a little ways off, eyes trained to a portrait of a balding man with impressive sideburns hung on the wall.

"Yes," I reply, tearing my eyes from the library and to him. "I don't mean to sound rude, or ungrateful for the betrothal, but I must ask. . ." His eyebrows lift, and he glances at me, bemused. "Why do you keep staring at me?" I blurt out, surprising even myself. But it's too late now. "Every time I look at you, you have your eyes on me, and I would like to know why. Is my sister not adequate?" My God, did I really say that? It seems I did. "Do you not like her well enough?" For some reason, he looks almost amused. This infuriates me; I strongly dislike being made fun of. "Answer the questions...!"


	16. CHAPTER 15

15

_Lars_

I lead him to one of my favourite places, the library. The same kind I have at my place, only a little bigger. I know I could open a great bookstore already, but I'm too selfish to give my valuable books to the others. My repository of knowledge. My Ivory Tower where I could hide from the world. A place where only privileged people could stay.

I touch the spines of the books with my fingertips. I have always loved doing so since I was a kid. My mother would always reprimand me for destroying books. But I wouldn't mind.

And then he asks that question. I lean myself against the wall, with my hands crossed on my chest. There, I feel much more comfortable, I don't have to pretend, I can be myself. So I stare at him. Just like I have been doing the whole evening.

I chuckle when he asks whether I don't like his sister. But when he rises his voice, I finally deadpan.

"You really want to know why?" I ask, scanning him with my eyes. "That's fine. Visit my place at Vesterbrogade tomorrow at eleven p.m. and I will tell you why."


	17. CHAPTER 16

16

_Lukas_

I huff and rake a hand through my hair.

"Come to your place tomorrow at eleven? And how do you suppose I'll manage that?" I ask irritably, annoyed at his reluctance to give an immediate answer. I lean against the great wooden desk, my back to the fire. "I hardly even know you. Whether you're going to be my brother-in-law or not, I don't make a habit of visiting strange men's houses in the dark."

He's staring again. Goddammit. "Is there something preventing you from telling me now?" I must be the rudest house-guest ever. But then again, most hosts do not ever-so-rudely stare like this.


	18. CHAPTER 17

17

_Lars_

I frown. But I should have expected him to be reluctant - he wasn't that easy type who agrees straightaway. I knew it and I wanted to provoke him, checking how I can approach him. It's no doddle.

"It's your choice," I reply, engaging him in that game where no-one can lose. "I will be waiting for you. It depends on you whether you come or not," I say provokingly, but he is stubborn. In fact, very stubborn. And subconsciously - or consciously, I cannot tell that - he also provokes me. With all his questions.

Because he is intelligent and I am sure he knows the reason why I keep staring. It's not difficult to find the answer. But he keeps asking. Provoking. And the next move is mine.

"Ah, dear Lukas." I tilt my head to look at his beautiful face from a different angle. Slowly, I start approaching him. He is standing still, he tries not to move, ah, so stubborn. I like it when someone is so feisty.

All of a sudden our faces are centimetres from each other. He tenses, but shows no fear. I look into his eyes but then take a glance at his lips; it's worth every sin.

"And what do you think? Why do I keep staring…?"


	19. CHAPTER 18

18

_Lukas_

Close. Too close. My God, he's mere centimetres from me. This is far beyond even impropriety now. He stares at my lips, a hint of a smirk on his own, before meeting my eyes again. From this close, I can see that they are not only a dark blue, but have flecks of gray in them. Quite a beautiful colour, now that I see them like this. Too late, I realize that he asked me a question.

"I. . .I don't. . ." I curse myself inwardly. Now I sound like a love-struck, confused teen-ager, which I'm not. By all accounts, I'm not. But he's too close, leaning in as if to kiss me. And for some unknown reason, I find myself leaning in as well. This unsettles me, unsettles me deeply, and I flinch back from him, colliding with the desk behind me. He simply stands there, looking as if he has not all a care in the world, with that same smug expression on his face.

"H-Have you no shame?" I manage, my mind still reeling from the almost-kiss and my lower back in pain from the collision. "You're betrothed to my sister, for heaven's sake! And I'm not. . .not like that. Am I to suppose you are a sodomite as well?" My God. I'm asking my future brother-in-law if he's a sodomite. He could go to prison for this. And I run that risk as well, oh my god. . .I blanch, eyes fixed to him. "How am I supposed to let my little sister marry you..."


	20. CHAPTER 19

19

_Lars_

_Sodomite_. Dear Lord, my parents used such word. My grandfather used such word. But I have never. Love or sex, it doesn't matter, that is how I and the rest of my penmen friends called it like. Sodom was a city that was destroyed by God, along with Gomorrah. Just because of free love they made.

As agnostic, I wasn't really religious. When I went to Germany year ago, I met with the greatest thinker of our times, Frederic Nietzsche. And he was the one who changed my view for religion and God.

"Call me as you like," I mutter, moving one step back. "I don't care."

"I know you're not like that," I add, approaching the fireplace. "If I could, I wouldn't marry your sister. It's not about her. She's perfect. I don't want to marry at all. I have already been married and I had to divorce her." I shudder when I think about it. "Maybe one day I'll tell you about it..."

I keep silent for a while, staring at dancing flames in the fireplace.

"I will marry Emilia and I will respect her. You don't have to worry about it," I explain, taking a look at him. It is his move, now that I had to withdraw because I knew I couldn't touch nor kiss him. I wouldn't do anything against his will. I never did. And suddenly I start thinking about Paul. And Oscar. Both of them who went to jail because they loved other men. Where the hell have I been born? Why do I have to live in such a world? I keep asking myself. I clear my throat and speak up: "'On November 13th, 1895, I was brought down here from London. From two o'clock till half-past two on that day I had to stand on the centre platform of Clapham Junction in convict dress, and handcuffed, for the world to look at. I had been taken out of the hospital ward without a moment's notice being given to me. When people saw me they laughed. Each train as it came up swelled the audience. Nothing could exceed their amusement. That was, of course, before they knew who I was. As soon as they had been informed, they laughed still more. For half an hour I stood there in the grey November rain surrounded by a jeering mob. For a year after that was done to me I wept every day at the same hour and for the same space of time.'"

I finish the quote and take a look at Lukas. "Do you know that was?"

He shakes his head. I stare at the fire again.

"Oscar Wilde," I reply. "He wrote that to me in a letter a few days ago. From prison. And do you know why? Because he loved not only women, but also men."

I can see Lukas' eyes get bigger and bigger. I'm sure he must have read some works of Oscar, at least 'The Importance of Being Earnest' or 'The Picture of Dorian Grey'. They were so popular that it was impossible not to hear about them.

"He was arrested on 6th April this year," I add, more quietly. "I will probably end up like him. It's impossible to restrict your true nature, you know. It's just… insane."


	21. CHAPTER 20

20

_Lukas_

I purse my lips and look at the ground, lowering my eyes. Oscar Wilde, a sodomite. . .I never would have thought or guessed. . .that never would have crossed my mind. I can't reply to something such as that, or his words after- his mind is like his poetry. Dark, amazing, but not beautiful. Never beautiful. The world would crush such a person; no one can remain innocent for long. And now I feel as if his world was in a way, crushing me. All this and this and this I knew, but never this bit of darkness, this insight in the world that I thought I knew but I truly know nothing of. Lars watches the fire, his hands folded behind his back and black suit turned shades of green and gray by the flickering light. And it is I again who watches him, resting against the desk with my feet crossed and eyes downcast. By speaking with him, I feel as if I have been thrown headfirst into some abyss that I knew nor wanted to know about, but now cannot escape and forget. Having done nothing, I fear I have done too much. My silence says it all.

"We should return," I say finally, after a silence that lasts for too long. My voice sounds far-off to my own ears. He doesn't move, but I know he heard me. I am unprepared here; this is a situation that no one dreams of meeting.

"I'll come," I add, somewhat rashly. He glances over at me, an eyebrow raised slightly. "I'll come to Vesterbrgade tomorrow. I'll be there at ten-thirty. Send a calling card for seven, and I shall take care of the rest."


	22. CHAPTER 21

21

_Lars_

I am surprised when he says that he will come to my place. I can't help smiling.

"Thank you," I say when I finally open the door and we come back downstairs, to our families.

* * *

><p>NEXT DAY<p>

* * *

><p>It's Sunday and my parents decided along with the Bondeviks that we should attend the mass. I was totally against it but they convinced me; after all, they wanted me to have a church wedding. Simultaneously, they wanted my betrothed to see Fredrik's Church - or more commonly known as The Marble Church - where we were supposed to get married in a month.<p>

Only when I start to think about it, it makes my stomach turn.

"It's so huge," says Emilia, grabbing my arm. She looks gorgeous today. Her dress is beautiful but modest, only with a few frillings. Her white hair is kept by blue ribbons. I smile because she looks like Alice in Wonderland. At least, I have always imagined her like that.

"It's the biggest dome in the whole Scandinavia," says my father. "There are only three larger domes elsewhere in Europe."

"Wasn't it based on St. Peter's Basilica in Rome?" asks Sir Bondevik. Then I space out. I take a look at Lukas, he looks tired today. I also didn't sleep well; I drank too much and our conversation put me off my stroke. I was thinking about it for the whole night through.

"Yes, indeed, it was," replies my father. "Can you believe it was completed only year ago? And the building started in 1749!"

"Probably the builders were drinking too much aquavit," says my mother and everyone laughs as if she told a great joke. I force a smile, Lukas doesn't even bother to do that.

"Is that Kierkegaard?" asks Lady Bondevik, pointing at the statue at the church.

"Exactly," answers my father as we enter the church. Then they trail away. Emilia looks around and admires the beautiful interior of the building. My parents nod to some people they see, and everyone smiles seeing me with my betrothed. They also start gossiping when they see Lukas with my sister.  
><em>Do they think they're going to marry too?<em>

In that moment it strikes me. My sister is not promised to anyone yet, my father still counts on that Swedish aristocrat but he hasn't replied yet. If he disagrees, he will have to pick someone else…

Oh God, not Lukas. Only not him.

I stiffen and Emilia can see my change of behaviour. She rubs my arm gently when we sit in the pew.

"What's wrong, dear…?" she asks quietly.

"It's nothing," I reply, forcing a smile. "I just had a bad night."


	23. CHAPTER 22

22

_Lukas_

"It's nothing," I hear from my sister's side. "I just had a bad night."

I glance at him covertly. Like hell he did. If he slept at all, I would be astounded. Lars looks peaked and stiff, especially so compared to Emilia, as beautiful as always. Her arm is wrapped around his own, and in my mind, it no longer belongs there. It looks out of place on him, dainty where there should be strong. It's too soon, after our conversation last night, to see my sister interacting with him this way. It simply does not seem right, but alas, there is nothing I can-or would, for that matter- do. Tonight's meeting could potentially set a plan in motion, a chain of events that, if let alone, could lead to both our destruction. I'm a fool for agreeing to go, that much is clear, but he is a greater fool still for offering such a thing. If one must take up such a thing, I personally would not look to the bride's own family.

"Look, Lukas," Lovise whispers in my ear, drawing my attention away from her brother. She smiles as if there is some hidden secret here that only she knows. "The service is beginning." Dressed modestly but becomingly in a deep amber damask, she looks lovely, though she pales beside my sister. Although I suppose I'll always think that...

"Indeed it is," I reply with a forced smile. She smiles that secret smile again and turns her attentions to the richly decorated pulpit. The priest in all the finery of his vestments is surrounded by alter-boys, all their backs to us. A communion rail surrounds the alter. As the priest begins in Latin, I let my eyes wander, albeit discreetly, around our surroundings. The lord and lady Hansen are dressed richly, my mother is in an ermine wrap that does nothing to hide her steadily-growing-fleshy neck, my father in his black silk suit imported from London. My own apparel is rather similar to his. Lars is looking rougher, still unshaven, but added a silken bow tie to his suit. His eyelids droop as the sermon continues, making for an amusing contrast with Emilia, who looks nearly hyper. It must be his touch; she loathes the service. Having been forced to attend our whole lives, we are easily bored by such things. I glance at Lovise again. Her whole being is trained to the service, her eyes fixed on a certain person at the alter. At first, I think it's the priest, another look tells me that is not so. So not a feverishly devoted one, her. Her eyes rest on a particular alter-boy. As I can only see him from the back, I cannot say whether he is of fair countenance or not, but I suppose he must be, to wholly command her attention like this. The Mass drones on, and I must say, God forgive me for my ill thoughts, but Emilia is not the only one who loathes the ceremony.

Finally, the time for communion approaches, and we all stand and exit the pew, filing around the alter rail and kneeling to receive the Sacrament. I end up next to Lars; neither of us looks at the other as we take the Eucharist. We stand, we go back to our pew. The choir sings, the priest finishes the service, and eventually we exit the cathedral.

"Why, that was lovely," Lady Hansen says, clasping her hands together. My mother gives her a thin smile in return as Father helps her with her fur coat. "I do enjoy a wonderful sermon," she replies crisply, almost sarcastically, causing a small smile to grace my lips. My mother is a complicated creature, sometimes the best of women, and other times, a man's worst nightmare. I do think I have seen the latter more often, though.

"Why don't we all go and get brunch?" my father suggests.

"Bah, brunch," Lord Hansen replies good-naturedly. "I suggest the men go for a drink while the ladies spend the afternoon discussing the details of the match together."

Lady Hansen waves an airy hand. "Is that what this is all about? Two drinking buddies simply wishing to reconnect?"

Father laughs and makes a little bow in her direction. "Madame, you have figured us out. Until later!" And with that, he and Sir-Lord- whatever his title is, he and Hansen set off to the tavern, leaving my mother, Lady Hansen, Emilia, Lovise, and Lars and myself standing in front of the church.

"Men!" Lady Hansen exclaims. "Always so rude."

"Mmm, yes," Mother says in agreement, her attention elsewhere. I know for a fact that she thinks the Lady a simpleton.

"Sir Hansen," I say, turning to Lars. "I do believe that you spoke of a certain wine collection that you wished to show me? In the library last night, if I do recall?" My eyes beg him to play along- this is much simpler than a calling card later this evening. Some things are best left alone when dealing with people such as my parents.

The corner of his mouth lifts ever-so-slightly, but he plays along willingly enough. "Ah, that is right. I was meaning to show you my collection. Mother, Lady Bondevik, Lovise, my dear Emilia, please excuse us. I do have an appointment to keep."

The three ladies accept graciously, all but my mother. Her sharp eyes turn to me, a question in them. I am supposed to hate Hansen, or at least that is what she gathered last night. And now I am invited to tour his wine cellar? Something is amiss.

"Oh my dear, I never would have guessed that you were a wine enthusiast," she simpers, though her eyes remain the same. If anyone is to discover this, whatever it might be, it will be her first. What a disturbing thought.

I return her smile. "Oh Mother, it seems we have much to learn about one another."

If that isn't the truth, I don't know what is.


	24. CHAPTER 23

23

_Lars_

I know I shouldn't have taken the Eucharist. I didn't even want to. I just know I have to force myself for that before the wedding. Father told me that he has a deal with the priest, who will lead our wedding ceremony, that he will invalidate my previous marriage if I start going to church regularly before the Big Day. The father agreed and I couldn't oppose. Jesus fuckin' Christ. Why the hell didn't I move out from this city yet? I have already been to so many places I liked better. And have always wanted to lead a migratory lifestyle. One year in Germany, one year in Switzerland… that just would be great. Without parents telling me what do I have to do. I just want to do the same as Paul and Oscar did - escape. To be brave enough to do it with a man I… like. Love? I am not sure. My emotional part tends to be very complicated…

And then, the sermon - the priest stands on the pulpit and finally switches the language into Danish. It's not that I don't understand Latin - I do, I use it fluently both in speech and writing – but it's always nice to listen to your mother tongue. I use English and French so often that sometimes I have the impression I have forgotten Danish. And that would be a shame. My eyelids droop, but when my ears catch something, I wake up. I can see the priest, very engaged in his speech, talking about the depravity of modern times.

"…the overdose of morphine, the adultery and the sodomy. This is the characteristic of our troubled times. These gross practices should be eliminated from our lives!" he shouts, excited.

I try to sit still and not stir but it's difficult. I can feel a sudden wave of heat hitting me. Just as if I was caught red-handed… I'm happy when the mass ends. I sigh with a relief when I leave the church in the end. All of a sudden, my father and Sir Bondevik decide to go for a drink. As usual, it doesn't even surprise me. We are coming back home, then Lukas all of a sudden starts talking about some wine collection. I'm tired but still quick-witted, I understand straightaway what he wants to tell me in a subliminal way.

"That's fine, my dear,"says my mother, addressing Lady Bondevik. "I thought we should do some shopping for your and my daughter. We could also show you around Copenhagen, you will love the centre, I promise you."

In this moment, I love my mother.

"We will meet later on in our manor for the dinner," she says, smiling. She doesn't even suspect anything. I thank - God or anyone - for such a naïve mother.

"Of course, have a good time," I say quickly, kissing Emilia's hand and also Lady Bondevik's. It just befits. When they get into the carriage and leave, we—Lukas and I- take another one and head towards my tenement house at Vesterbrogade.

"Wine collection? I'd never be taken in by such a banal thing," I say, not only tired but still irritated after that sermon. I start biting a nail, which I usually try not to do.

"I'm sorry ," I mumble, then sigh. He is looking at me; my eyes meet his. It's a quick while but it's enough to cause the spark; I take him in my arms, hold him firmly but simultaneously trying not to cause him any pain, and press my lips to his. In the first moment, he is stupefied. I'm kissing him and for a while I feel as if I was kissing a monument. Only when he starts to struggle, I pull away, gasping.

"I'm sorry," I repeat once again. "I couldn't stop myself."


	25. CHAPTER 24

24

_Lukas_

"Control yourself," I snap, scooting away from him while I try to hold onto any shred of dignity I still have. Lord God in heaven, why did I even agree to this? I can still feel the imprint of his lips on my own, and it grieves me. I'm not like this, I'm not like him, I'm not a sodomite, I've never engaged in any sort of inappropriate behavior with anyone, and yet here I am, sitting by my sister's betrothed on the way to his home.

"Does it not matter to you that we- you- are in the open for anyone who wishes to see?"

I wearily massage my temples. This is beyond stupid. This is wrong. I should not be doing this. But it's too late now- or at least, I tell myself this. He looks at me sideways, a slightly wounded look in his blue eyes, a few shades darker than my own. My fatigue lessons my patience and quickens my temper.

"Oh, come off it," I say sharply, rolling my eyes. "It's only for safety." I take pains not to say "your", or worse, "our" safety. I am not ready to throw myself in with him. The carriage arrives at the door to a grand house, with several stories with balconies, and each one full of activity, or the evidence of it. As I get out a shoot him a look.

"Tenement housing? Is this where you plan to bring my sister? Our family was under the impression that you were quite rich, and lived within your means." I fear my voice is too harsh; the glance he gives me tells me this is so.

"Recall those words when we get to my apartment," he replies, handing the carriage driver a few coins before striding up to walk beside me. Once inside the building, though the entrance is rather underwhelming, we go up a flight of stairs, eventually reaching a large, oaken door much like the one to the library at the Hansen estate. He slides a key into the latch and opens it, and without a word, we go inside. As he shuts and locks the door behind us, I look around at my surroundings. A quick study of the apartment shows it to be quite nicely furnished after all, if not quite to my tastes, but still fairly aristocratic-looking. But of course I cannot say this after criticizing the building earlier. So instead I merely remark on the scenery and something about the grandfather clock.

He grins slightly-it seems he knows the direction of my thoughts, but tactfully chooses not to say anything about it. I walk around a little before closing the window and drawing the drapes shut. No one must have any sort of idea of what goes on here. I won't be able to bear it if this is seen- I fear my pride can only withstand so much in one day. I sit down in a richly upholstered armchair, crossing my legs.

"So what was it that you wished to speak to me about here?"


	26. CHAPTER 25

25

_Lars_

And finally, my Ivory Tower. My wonderful tenement house with four storeys, all mine. While I'm gone for travelling or anything, I usually rent the highest floor to some people who can afford it. It's extra money and it's always good to have more.

"I don't know," I mumble, lighting up a cigarette. I treat Lukas with them but he refuses. Maybe he would prefer something to drink? I take a look into the drinks cupboard where all of the bottles are hidden. There's not much left because recently I started drinking more than I should. Sometimes life is too bothersome...

"I have Scotch whiskey, want some?" I ask, and not even waiting for his answer, I pour him some. The second glass I keep for myself. I drink everything in one gulp when all of a sudden I can hear a knocking on the main door.

"Who the hell," I mutter under my breath and hand Lukas the glass. "Wait a moment."

I run to the hall and unlock the door. It's the postman. He smiles at me, even though my eyes say 'don't come close because I'm going to kill you'.

"Good day, Sir Hansen," he says and hands me a letter. "It's a registered letter for you."

"Thank you, goodbye," I reply and quickly slam the door. My heart begins racing when I see the familiar handwriting. And the name of the sender overleaf. Paul Verlaine. I come back to the living room, quickly open the envelope with a paper knife and start reading. Slowly, my heart starts thumping even more. And then the rising wave of a sudden rage. This is a letter of a man who has lost everything. Who hit the rock bottom. I can see his style of writing has changed; the letters are lopsided, some are blurred, this is where his tears and alcohol dropped. I can even smell the characteristic fragrance of absinthe on the paper. It didn't pass even after these weeks of traveling from France to Denmark. I know Lukas is watching me but I don't care. When I finish reading the letter, my heart is broken. Not only because of what Paul is telling me - about Arthur, about his other love Lucien Letinois and his sudden death... it's also because I somehow know this is the last letter from Paul I will ever receive. I am sitting motionless for a while, staring vacantly at the letter.

Without a word I walk over to the bottle of whiskey, wanting to pour myself more. But my hands are shaking, both the glass and the bottle drop out and smash on the floor. In that moment I'm just like this glass. In pieces.


	27. CHAPTER 26

26

_Lukas_

His back is turned to me; his shoulders are shaking ever so slightly as the whiskey slowly spreads across the floor. I think I see a few glass shards near his boots. This, and this, and this. I look at my untouched glass of Scotch, then back to the growing mess. A great sigh rises within me.

"Come, let's clean this up," I say wearily, forcing myself to stand and take a towel from the washroom nearby. The fine white embroidery on it darkens as the whiskey soaks through. Here I am, on my hands and knees for no good reason, cleaning up another man's floor. He doesn't say anything, merely taking a step back. A yellow parchment is in his hand, and judging by the look on his face and the way he dropped the bottle of whiskey, it can't be good news. I'm tempted to ask who the sender is, but I don't think I'll get much of a response at the moment. Instead, I merely stand up with the towel in hand, and bring it over to the ornate sink, where I leave it. The man must have servants of a sort- they should have come running at the sound of the bottle breaking. But that seems to be a matter for a different day.

"Are you alright?" I ask him blankly. He takes his eyes of the accursed letter for a moment to reply, "Clearly not."

Truly a man of such academic caliber as I could have grasped that little detail for myself. (But then, I suppose, one would wonder why I asked. It's simply polite.)

"Why don't you have a seat, Lar- Sir Hansen. You look as if you've seen a ghost." Good Lord, I barely caught myself there. Exactly when have I started to refer to him so informally? Hmm. . .last night. This is starting to become ridiculous.


	28. CHAPTER 27

27

_Lars_

"Don't... don't refer to me like that," I manage to stutter out, flopping down on the settee. Our eyes meet. He seems to be concerned with my sudden change of behaviour. Or, at least, I would like to think so…

"I told you, I'm Lars. Sir Hansen is my father, not me," I add. My voice falters and I look at him. Then I slowly rise from my place. "Come, I'll show you something."

He follows me as we're going upstairs. To my room. The place where all of my poems have been written, where I spent my best and worst moments of life. The place that is not supposed to be visited by everyone, only by special persons. And I decide to take Lukas there.

"Maybe this will help you to understand me better. My atelier," I say and let him inside. It used to be a spacious room but now it's tiny because of all the books piled up on the floor, all the sheets of papers scattered on my mahogany desk or -also -all around the floor or bed. And the king of this room - my typewriter, the thing that has seen all of my works first. I put Paul's letter on the windowsill, to not to forget to write back to him. I have to do it as quick as I can- maybe I will manage before… my wedding. And his death.

"This is where I work," I say calmly, walking over to the papers lying on my table. I started writing a drama but I got stuck somewhere in the middle. I should get back to lyric poetry; I guess I'm better at it.


	29. CHAPTER 28

28

_Lukas_

"Ah..." I fold my hands together- they're slightly sticky from the whiskey, and I loathe to mess up any books by touching them. It certainly looks like a writer's room. Papers are everywhere, some filled with poetry, some with lyrics to songs, some with ink stains that speak of anger and what some call 'writer's block'.

"Lars..." I say, just to try it out without some sort of reservation. The word feels weighty on my tongue, as if it shouldn't be spoken. "Lars..."

He looks at me with slight amusement in his gaze- I wonder how many people have done this before. I look over to the window; the letter is there. The sender, I see, is Paul Verlaine. The poet. Why, he must be nearly sixty, seventy years old by now. I wonder how long he and Lars have communicated with each other. Lars puts his hands together behind his back- he seems to be expecting something.

"Thank you for showing me your room," I say, my eyes meting his. "It must be quite. . .a rare occasion."

I honestly don't know what to say to him now. It seems quite intimate to show someone this personal, normally hidden side of you. One's room is like their personal kingdom, their domain. And now I have been granted access.

"I do not deserve such a thing," I say aloud. He raises his eyebrows slightly. "No, honestly," I continue, somewhat awkwardly. "I have been nothing but rude, and a bore at that. You should not grant me access to this most personal place."


	30. CHAPTER 29

29

_Lars_

"But I wanted to," I say, interrupting his sudden torrent of words. I look deeply into his bright blue eyes; I am drowning in them endlessly. The fact that they're looking at me the same way makes me happy.

"I wanted to because I want you to know who I am," I say but quickly correct myself. "Honestly speaking, I don't know it myself but at least… I'd like to show you this part of me."

I walk over to the bookcase, where I look for my first volume of poems. The original one, the one that the publishing house handed me. It's not easy to find it among so many books but they're all standing in some logic, some order that only I am capable of understanding. I find the inconspicuous, red book with only the title and my pseudonym on the cover.

"Sharla Senn," I say aloud when I see a questioning expression on Lukas. "Do you know this author…?"

I'm still keeping this a secret, however, a smile almost gives myself away. And when Lukas answer that yes, obviously, he has read 'her' poetry, and that Emilia is fond of 'her' too, I smile widely. "Open it on page twenty three," I tell him. And when he does, I can see his eyes get bigger and bigger. He looks at me, then at the poem.

"Perish, my heart, what to live for. Does it sound familiar…?" I am chuckling, not able to hold it in any longer.


	31. CHAPTER 30

30

_Lukas_

I put down the book, a smile playing faintly on my lips.

"Of course it's you..." I say, "but why assume a woman's pseudonym?"

I haven't noticed anything off about the poems, but why chose a woman? With that sort of name, reading aloud from your work at a poet's gathering might be awkward. No wonder I had not recognized any of his work. He merely laughs again, and sits down on the bed. When he gestures to the space beside him, I grow wary. At first, at least. I am in his house, in his room after all, and who knows what has gone on in here besides writing, but...after a few moments it seems quite rude to go on without explicitly declining, so I rise and take a seat next to him. He smiles a little at that, an honest smile. It makes me feel bad for doubting his intentions. I truly am at a loss for words as he leans in slightly, then closer and closer...


	32. CHAPTER 31

31

_Lars_

I bite my lower lip, trying not to chuckle again.

"It's the anagram, my dear," I say at last. "Do you know what it is? Of course you know." I answer my own rhetorical question. "If you reorder the letters in Lars Hansen, you get Sharla Senn, simple as that."

I give him a while to digest that information. I chuckle; his astonished expression is just too charming and it's getting more and more difficult to control myself.

"Can you imagine the faces of all the poets waiting for Sharla Senn when I arrived…?" I ask, recalling my first literary meeting. It was so hilarious for me, all these shocked faces staring at me. 'But we expected a woman' said one of them and then we all started laughing along. I decide to sit down on my bed. I tap the place next to me to show him that he can sit there. After a while of hesitation he does it, our bodies only centimeters apart.

"This book is for you," I say. "Keep it."

I'm watching him for a while, then decide to lean towards him. His muscles tense a little, he is nervous. I gently touch his cheek and then skim my lips over that sensitive place behind his ear. He shudders straightaway, it's a normal reaction. That place is erogenous and I'm aware of that.

"It's alright, calm down," I whisper into his ear, brushing my lips over his neck.


	33. CHAPTER 32

32

_Lukas_

His lips skim the place behind my ear- I nearly drop the book in surprise. Well, I suppose I'm not surprised in a way. It feels like everything is happening far too quickly and yet not fast enough. When he whispers into my ear, his warm breath tickles the sensitive skin, and sends a strange sensation through me, almost like gooseflesh. My eyes flutter shut as he moves his lips to my neck, and my head tilts back on its own accord to give him more space. It's a strange feeling, this sort of thing, one unfamiliar to me for many reasons. But not one that I dislike, even with everything in my head screaming that this is wrong, this is evil and should stop now. But I fear that it's too late for that.

Lars's lips become more insistent now, seeking to go lower than the constricting collar of my suit. The feeling brings me back to the moment, a strange thing to come back to. He seems to notice my distraction and sits back, those dark blue eyes on me. He's watching me closely, and I know this is the moment of judgement. Of my potential damnation. It's not too late to simply stand up and walk out I suppose, though that seems a near impossibility given the circumstances. Oh, I'm sure he would let me go- he's not the type of man to force me into anything. But what truly keeps me from doing that is my own lack of will. It seems much has changed within these past two days. I look up at his face, meet his eyes. They greet me with an almost resigned, yet still hopeful look. He knows I'm going to leave, he's prepared for it.

This is so incredibly stupid, so dangerous. He has everything to lose for this. A few words from me and the engagement is broken, our fathers' friendship dissolved, his family shamed, and he himself thrown in jail to rot. At this moment, his life feels like it rests in my hands. He is entirely at my mercy, and knows it. Perhaps it is the look in his eyes that wipes away any doubt of my choice, or perhaps it is that simple truth. In all senses, both literal and figurative, I am at the threshold of something new, and ominously so. In my mind, I'm standing at the edge of a cliff, much like the ones near home, with land being the familiarity of my home and family, my sister standing there, about to be married. I'll have to take a wife soon; she must stand there as well, hidden from view somewhere. And below me, off the edge, in the shadows, stands Lars. He smiles- no, it's more of a smirk, a grin than a smile, and beckons. I glance back toward my family; they simply stand with open arms. I make my decision, close my eyes, and jump.

Oh, what I fool I am! I step off the edge of the cliff, and begin my journey into the dark. Into the abyss, the unknown, and as I fall, I realize something. Perhaps this has always been my fate. Perhaps I was never meant to be some poor girl's husband, stuck into my father's business and hating every minute of my life, surrounded by a horde of children, as unfamiliar as strangers though they are my own. And though I might end up that way still, why not get some enjoyment out of life on the way? It's not a kindness to either of us to start something like this now, but damn it all- responsibilities, duty, all of it. Oh yes, my mind is made up. My lips curl into something of a smile as I look at him. He still sits, almost somberly.

He jerks in surprise as I lean in and our lips meet. This is clearly not what he was expecting. I am glad; it means that his mind is clear and good for more than literature. At first, our kisses are awkward and slow, him in shock and I in inexperience. But soon enough, we grow more comfortable with each other, and he comes back to himself.

I don't know how long we sit there, simply kissing. The book, forgotten, slides off of my lap and into a stack of paper as my arms wrap themselves around him. My fingers twist into his hair, and I am unashamed, delighting in all the new sensations. When our touches turn from soft and sweet to needy, and our hands grow restless and explore each other's bodies, it seems only natural to continue.


	34. CHAPTER 33

33

_Lars_

I'm stunned when Lukas suddenly takes the initiative and kisses me directly on the lips. For a while I'm sitting like a dummy, not even moving. I probably squint when our lips finally meet but at last I go back to reason and start taking an active part in that kiss. Just as if I could lose him in any moment, as if he was going to fade away any minute. Never before have I kissed someone like that. Never. It's new, even for me, not only for him. And then that thought flashes through my mind. A single thought that maybe. Maybe… I have fallen for him.

Oh God. It's too early to say so. At least that's what my rational mind keeps telling me. But, in fact, I have always been that 'tragic romantic' type who can impulsively start a relationship without a future and then suffer a lot. I can't stop it. It's engraved in my memoirs. I can't love a person 'normally' (whatever this is supposed to mean). If I love, I devote whole my being, all my energy and actions to that feeling. I offer my heart as a sacrifice and when that person breaks it - because it cannot be other way round - I am disappointed and I suffer. In fact, I am a typical Sagittarius; I am a free spirit, a vision of marriage terrifies me. Wedding rings are like handcuffs for me. Everything I do, I do it with passion and commitment. If I fall in love, I fall madly. If I write, I put my whole heart into it.

And Lukas.

As a matter of fact, never before have I met a man like him; from the first moment I saw him, I couldn't take my eyes off him. And usually I'm not that pestering, rather trying to seduce than to gape, to play a game. But with him… it just feels so comfortable. So good. He is fascinating, keeps me sexually enthralled with every kiss but there is something more behind it. Lots more. He leans backwards, lands on the pillows, I'm on top of him. Rapture is growing and I know this will lead us to the unavoidable but… I want to give in to it. To flow with the tide. I bite his earlobe, then move to the neck and slide my hand under his jacket when all of a sudden I hear the knocking to the door. We spring up, he pulls away from me in panic.

"Sir Hansen…?"

I can hear my butler. I put a hand on Lukas' knee to calm him down.

"Yes, Kjetil…?" I ask, running my fingers through my hair. My heart accelerated a bit when he surprised us. Damn butler, he definitely has no tact.

"The carriage from your father is waiting outside to take you and Sir Bondevik to dinner," he explains, still standing behind the door. He knows he can enter that room only when I let him, it's my very special room, only for me. And all my servants know it's a very restricted area.

"Right, thank you," I reply and take a look at Lukas. "I completely forgot about that bloody dinner," I mumble under my breath and sigh loudly.


	35. CHAPTER 34

34

_Lukas_

When the butler knocks at the door, I feel as if my heart is going to burst out of my chest. My eyes fly open, wide and scared, and I can feel my heart accelerate under my suit. "Sir Hansen...?" the man asks through the door.

"Yes, Kjetil?" Lars asks in response, remarkably calm, though I suppose he has much more practice with this. He puts a hand on my knee in an effort to calm me. Dear Lord, if the butler came in right now, and us in such a compromising position...Everything would be over before it even began.

"The carriage from your father is waiting outside to take you and Sir Bondevik to the dinner," the man explains, still behind the door. Well thank God for that. I quickly and quietly slip out from underneath Lars to the edge of the bed, where I perch, as light as a sparrow about to take off in flight.

"Right, thank you," Lars responds, before turning to me. "I completely forgot about that bloody dinner," he mumbles, then sighs aloud.

'I can tell,' I want to say in reply, but at the moment, that would be too harsh. When he looks at me again, his eyes are soft, and I know I made the right choice in choosing not to say it.

"I'm sorry," he breathes as he leans in again, and his lips brush mine with the barest whisper of a kiss. I nod, hiding my annoyance at the interruption, and instead go stand in front of the mirror he has hanging on the wall. I intend to fix my jacket and shirt to make them fit for company, but when I see a small mark just below the edge of my collar, it calls for my attentions instead. I peer at its reflection in the mirror. It's small, and a soft red, and looks like it will bruise by the morrow. I look over my shoulder at Lars. He's fixing his bowtie, but looks up when I look at him.

"Did you do that?" I ask him. I can't tell if I'm worried or amused or some other emotion. When he raises his eyebrows, I pull down my collar to show him the little red mark. He flushes ever so slightly and his mouth is a perfect 'o.'

"Oh..." he says, and it causes me to almost smile. I want to tell him that his mouth is the most perfectly round thing I've ever seen. "I'm sorry," he says, almost shyly, and when he looks at me again, his face is apologetic.

"It's fine," I say brusquely, and turn back to the mirror. "The collar hides it anyway," I add more gently, so he won't think that I'm angered by it. I hear a non-committal sound behind me in response. Looking into the mirror again, I see that my lips are slightly puffy and red, a change from the pale, thin lips of my family and I. I'm more concerned about that, but alas, there's nothing I can do.

"How long is the dinner?" I ask him, looping my bowtie around my neck and redoing the tie. In the mirror, I can see him glance up again.

"Probably about as long as last night," he replies, still looking a little morose. And I thought I was the more somber one..."We should get going," he adds, standing and brushing off his suit jacket. I give myself one last critical glance in the mirror before following him as he opens the door and goes back out into the expanse of his apartment. Looking at the soiled spot on the carpet from a few hours before, it seems ironic that a butler would come to tell him about a carriage, but no servants would come running when the bottle broke.


	36. CHAPTER 35

35

_Lars_

"Don't forget about it," I say, handing him my book again. "Hide it before your family's eyes. I don't want them to know who Sharla Senn truly is. "

I kiss him quickly before we leave my apartment and then head back towards my parent's manor. I close the curtain on the window in the carriage and pull him to myself again. He's not as passive as he used to be; we flatten ourselves against each other in a frenzied kiss. My manners are already gone but that's the thing I care least about. I look at him and stroke his cheek. I smile at him as the romantic side of my nature makes its presence known. I have a feeling he wants to tell me something- I also would like to tell him so many things but I don't know how. I have a lump in my throat. And when I finally manage to open my mouth, the carriage stops. I sit motionlessly for a while and the only sentence that I'm able to stutter out is: "I still expect you at my place this evening."

I smirk at him and light the cigarette. My parents hate my little tobacco addiction and mother claims that 'I stink' but I don't mind their opinions. I try to live independently, earn my own money and not let them meddle in my life. I storm in the manor, making a big entrance. The endorphins are still whirling in my blood after this what happened between Lukas and me. He is rather reticent, controls himself but he is not able to hide a smile on his beautiful face. He is shining and that moment is wonderful. I have the urge to kiss him again, to do it right there and right now but then I can hear my mother's steps.

"Oh, Lars, at last!" She frowns while looking at us. "Jesus, what have I told you about smoking? Are you drunk?"

"Dear mother," I address her and inhale. "Even if I am, it is not your business."

I blow out the smoke and we walk inside. My mother is angry, resenting me for disparaging her. She's always been full of herself. As I notice my fiancée, I hide my hand with the cigarette behind my back and take her hand with the other one. I kiss her fragile hand and smile. She blushes straightaway. Oh dear, she is still just a child I could dance or flirt innocently with. Marrying her seems just… improper to me. It should be forbidden.

"I see you had a good time," my father says, looking at me and Lukas. In the same moment, Sir Bondevik nudges him and smirks. "I know where they've been," he says and they start laughing as if they were insane. Of course, we know what they mean. The brothel. One of my father's favourite haunts. If only they knew the truth… My mother hits my father with her fan.

"Erik, behave, for God's sake," she hisses.

Lady Bondevik shares her view. "Shame on you, Jensen," she snorts while my fiancée is sitting in her place with her cheeks red. I'm not even sure if she knows what we're talking about…

"Think whatever you want but we haven't been there," I correct everyone and stub out my cigarette.


	37. CHAPTER 36

36

_Lukas_

My father nudges me and raises his eyebrows suggestively.

"I know where they've been," he says, then laughs. Oh dear Lord...honestly, their train of thought worries me sometimes. The brothel is the absolute last place one would find me. I don't even know where one is here in Copenhagen.

Lady Hansen hits her husband with her fan, rebuffing him. "Erik, behave, for God's sake," she hisses. My mother looks annoyed as well, but I can see the questioning glance she shoots me. With her, perhaps it is best to let them believe we actually were at the brothel. At least it would dispel some of her doubts about my masculinity.

"Shame on you, Jensen," she snorts, rolling her eyes at him. My little sister merely sits at her place, ladylike as ever, with her cheeks a bright, burning red. She's so innocent that I highly doubt she knows what we're discussing. Actually, I take that back. One never knows with Emilia.

"Think whatever you want but we haven't been there," Lars says from beside me while discreetly stubbing out his cigarette. A quick glance at my mother's skeptical look makes up my mind.

"Hansen, come on...it's best not to lie," I say lightly, and force a smirking grin. "They figured it out anyway. Why not just admit it and be done?" _I'm sorry_.

I hardly bear to see my father's knowing smile, or hear Sir Hansen's guffaw.

"Not in front of the ladies," my father says with a smirk that tells of many such times like this is his own life. "Especially not your sister."

"A little bachelor get-together, huh?" Sir Hansen laughs. "Better to do it now, before my son's tied down again."

"Erik!" Lady Hansen exclaims again, with a not-as-discreet-as-she-thinks look at Emilia. My sister is still red, but I can see her hurt in her eyes. I suddenly feel guilty for lying about the brothel, but if I didn't...lying about it or not, I'm hurting her. I'm with her fiancé for Heaven's sake. There is no other way about it.

I look up to meet my mother's eyes, and I can see, no matter how well she hides it, she is pleased with my answer. Maybe I'm not such a pansy after all, eh? Ha. If only.

"Where is the younger Lady Hansen?" I ask with a slight, gracious smile. "Lovise?" Lars asks, uncomfortably drumming his fingers along his thigh.

"Yes, I should quite like to..discuss things with her," I answer with a sly smile.

The look my father gives Sir Hansen is one of hidden joy- perhaps they can get two marriages instead of one! That would permanently tie our families together. After all, two divorces are harder to secure than one.


	38. CHAPTER 37

37

_Lars_

I'm always so thoughtless. Lukas is the one who rescues the situation before it gets out of control. He is perfect in pretending. He plays like a trained actor; when he says that we should 'confess' where we've been to, I almost start doubting we were really in my house, kissing and caressing…

I think I should start playing my role of a good fiancé too but for me it's so hard to pretend all the time… I'm born in December, I hate limits and borders, anything that restricts me. I think I'm in love with Lukas, probably, and I should hide it because I'm going to marry his sister… this is insane. Who on Earth could stand something like that…? I am slowly about to lose my mind.

Bachelor get-together. I really want to laugh at it. Yes, of course. But not in the way they understand it… I have been to the brothel only once; it was during my trip to France. My friend (ex-lover, to be precise), Jacques, urged on me to go there. I agreed but I didn't want to go with any girl to the room and simply fuck her like an animal. I preferred to watch. So I observed my Frenchman shagging two girls at once. I was just smoking, drinking vodka and watching. I joined them later on but while back in his house, I made love to him only. And it was far better. It was France that set me free like that. My mother claims that this country 'corrupted' me. Father thought it was because all of these prostitutes on Montmartre. And I could only laugh, not agreeing or denying.

Then Lukas asks about my sister. I probably am the only one who feels threatened. The vision of him marrying my sister… it's just not right, it's a true deviation. How would we be supposed to live…?

"She is having singing lesson at the moment," my mother explains. "She should be back in ten minutes. Her teacher—"she addresses to Lady Bondevik, "-is a famous French music teacher. He even served to our king, Christian IX. Are you familiar with Francois Saint-André?"

"Oh, of course, how would I not be," Lady Bondevik smiles. "Nevertheless our dear Emilia had lessons with Claude Debussy himself!"

Yes, the competition of swanking must have started sooner or later. I have no idea why parents like to boast so much about their children's successes. Does it really matter?

"Oh, I met Debussy in Paris," I butt in, grinning and leant back in my chair. "Such an unhappy man," I sigh, discreetly taking a look at Lukas. He knows what I mean, I know he does. When I met the great composer, I was almost sure his sexuality didn't differ much from mine. He wasn't married - however, some crazy woman was stalking him constantly - but he was madly in love. It was an open secret in the bohemian environment, his crush. It was obvious because he couldn't stop talking about him…

"What do you mean?" asks lady Bondevik, and my mother frowns. It's a subliminal threat: don't talk about perversions while in company.

"Ah," I begin, lighting another cigarette. My mother is about to blow up, her muscles tensed. She is so afraid about the image of our family, as she's always been.

"He could not be with the one he loved. Simple as that," I reply equivocally and almost hear my mother sighing with relief.

"Oh, it's so sad," Lady Bondevik comments. And before she asks another question, we can hear the door open.

"It's surely Lovise," says my mother and quickly springs up from her place. The servants start putting the dishes on the table. When my mother returns with my beautiful sister, everything is almost ready.

"Good day," she says gently, curtsying and taking her place beside Lukas.


	39. CHAPTER 38

38

_Lukas_

"Ah, my darling, you have come to grace us with your presence again," I say charmingly to the newly arrived Lovise. It's hard to choke the words out, but somehow I manage to make it flow. She blushes slightly and does another pretty little curtsy in my direction.

"You are too kind, sir," she mumbles before sitting down. She is to my right, Lars across from me, and beside him, Emilia. She still looks put out by the brothel conversation, but her feelings will have to wait- her brooding is unseemly. It seems we have a smorgasbord of dishes- there are so many, it's hard to imagine how much work the servants must have been doing whilst we were away. Not that I am not used to such feasts, however.

"Please, begin," Sir Hansen says from the head of the table. His lady wife is beside him, my father to his right, then my mother beside Lady Hansen. It's slightly strange to see my father beside Lars, but the two start up an amiable conversation soon enough. After watching them for a few moments, I turn to Lovise.

"Would you like a slice of ham, my dear?" I ask her, gesturing to the large roast in front of us. She nods her acquiesce, and I move to carve a small piece off the side. As I cut off the piece, I glance up and my eyes meet Lars's. He looks distinctly uncomfortable, one hand tugging at the slightly constricting collar of his suit absentmindedly. Quickly, I look away in an effort to pass it off as an accidental look. I finish carving the ham, and slide the piece onto her plate.

"Here you are," I say to her, and sit back after carving a piece for myself. Further down the table is a leg of lamb and a variety of other dishes. Some must only be Danish as I cannot recognize them all, but overall, it's quite a feast for us eight. As I eat, I look over towards my sister again. She looks decidedly miserable now, and looks like she's trying to move away from her fiancé. This is becoming ridiculous, and I have half a mind to try to tell her so. If the brothel discussion was true, it is completely within his rights. He's been unwed for years-what sort of man would remain celibate? Of course, the brothel, or at least that one, if it's like the majority, would probably not be much of a destination for him. That composer he spoke of, Debussy...I wonder if there was a tryst there? I've met the man myself since he did indeed give Emilia a singing lesson, but I cannot tell if that could be the case. What my mother declined to mention is that Emilia was eight years old, and I was eleven, and the composer was merely passing through. I hardly think that compares to Lovise and her instructor...but my mother must be herself.


	40. CHAPTER 39

39

_Lars_

We start talking about the upcoming ceremony of nuptials. My nuptials. Gode Gud, it still seems so unreal to me. I wish I could abduct Lukas and escape somewhere far, far away from Copenhagen. The Far East for example. India, the Pearl of British Empire. Such a different culture. Or Kenya. I'm prepared for such a change, have been preparing myself for years. And I think I've already grown into such journey.

" …the projects of wedding dresses," says my mother and smiles gently at Emilia. "Tomorrow the tailors will take the measures. Lars, yours too, and in the afternoon we're going to make the guest list."

"Sounds perfect, my dear," Lady Bondevik replies approvingly. "It is going to be a perfect wedding."

Oh, of course. Perfect for who…? I want to say this aloud but I somehow restrain myself.

"I'm finished," I mumble and want to leave the table but my father stops me.

"Wait, son, wait. Still, there's champagne to drink and… "He wants to continue but my mother butts in.

" …and there's August Strindberg's The First Warning in the Royal Danish Theatre today," she says. "We have the tickets for you and Emilia, Lukas and Lovise."

"We should give you some time alone," says Lady Bondevik and I am almost sure that there was some subliminal message in her words…

"You should get to know each other better before the marriage; isn't that right, my dear?" She addresses it to Emilia who barely nods, still thinking about that brothel conversation. "And Lovise will be accompanied by such a handsome, young man, " adds my mother.

When Lukas mutters something about an honour, I want to laugh. It's really startingto become ridiculous... I'd love to stand up and stop this travesty. Lukas, my sister, myself, and my fiancée in my parents' lodge. It seems it's going to be a long night...


	41. CHAPTER 40

40

_Lukas_

I smile tightly as I hear I am to accompany Lovise to the theatre. Lord, this is becoming an annoyance. I don't even need to look at Lars to feel his impatience. And there my sister still sits, looking down, all offended-like. She's like a petulant child-even when Mother addresses her, she barely responds but to nod. This is not how she was raised to act; I should know, I was right there beside her in all this.

"Excuse me, dear sister," I say to her. "May I have a word?"

She looks up, glances quickly at Lars, and then nods sullenly. I flash a quick, gracious smile at the others and excuse us. We walk to the corner of the living room, I in the lead, and she slowly following. When we stop she glares at me.

"The bro-"

"You need to learn to control your feelings," I hiss at her. "You're embarrassing not only yourself but our entire family. Don't you remember all the lessons that French governess beat into us? You're going to marry him for Christ's sake; learn to deal with him now. You were so in love last night, one little defect and it's all over now. The man could have five hidden wives, be a sodomite, or a Jew-it doesn't matter! Father arranged your marriage, and you'll simply have to deal with the consequences."

Of course, that's not completely true. If he was in fact proven to be a sodomite, it would all be gone in a matter of moments, and she does have some rights of divorce, but my words are mostly what is. She simply glares at me then, both for interrupting her and being so harsh.

"You used to be nice to me, and now you're so rough and rude," she whines, albeit quietly. "You're probably just jealous of me."

"Jealous?" I repeat, my heart in my throat. Dear Lord, there's no way...

"Yes," she huffs. "You're jealous that I'm marrying first, and that there are no suitable women for you back home, so you'll grow old before you can ever take a bride. Apparently you're not above taking whores though," she adds daringly.

The mere nerve of that statement sends me back into my previous state of anger. Even if it were true, she has absolutely no right to say such a thing.

"Mind your tongue," I tell her warningly, before plastering a smile on my face and returning to the table, a still-sulky Emilia in tow. Mother raises her eyebrows ever-so-slightly, and nods once in my direction. It's amusing how her respect for me seems to grow the more "manly" I am, and apparently chastising my sister adds to my masculinity. Lars is looking at me, I can feel it, and it just adds to my annoyance. Something must be done about this; I can't just have him so near me, and yet so far, for the night. Not after this afternoon, anyway. The depth of this conviction surprises me.

"Hansen, would you mind giving me a tour of the library?" I ask him, trying not to let any trace, however so slight, of my feelings creep into my tone. Emilia gives me a strange look, so I add, "There was a volume that I glimpsed last night, and I would like to have another look at it, if you don't mind."

"Wonderful," Lady Hansen cuts in as soon as I finish speaking. "It will give us ladies a chance to talk, and your father and Sir Bondevik the opportunity to have a smoke before tonight."

She has a strange sort of desperation in her voice, as if she can't stand having Lars in the same room as herself. Or perhaps it's me, though it seems she thinks rather highly of me.

"Of course, follow me," Lars says shortly, clearly as eager, if not more, to escape as well. He leads me out the dining room to the main staircase, and after checking to see that there are no servants or wandering eyes, we nearly sprint up the stairs in our haste. When we reach the library, he shuts the heavy oak door, bolts it closed, and then stands against it, his chest rising and falling swiftly with each breath. His eyes wander from my eyes to my lips to my collar, and then the distance between us is closed, and we're kissing. Swift, sudden, and with a taste of desperation, it's nothing like earlier. He's against the door, and then somehow I am, and my suit coat is discarded on the floor. I slip his own coat off his broad shoulders, and then we're kissing again.


	42. CHAPTER 41

41

_Lars_

All frustration and negative feelings go by as we flatten ourselves against each other in a passionate kiss. First, it's me leant against the door, but after a while I turn around and push Lukas against it, so that I have full control over him. He isn't withstanding, I get the impression that he likes it.

"Damn it," I mumble as we stop kissing. I pull away from him and run my fingers through my hair. "Don't you have the same impression that this is going in… the wrong direction? I mean, not you and me," I quickly correct myself as I walk over to the large window with a view of our garden. "I guess you became the official candidate to be my sister's husband."

I peer at him as he approaches. When he's beside me, I wrap my arms around his waist and look into his beautiful blue eyes. As they mellow when they look into mine, as they start to shine. I wish I had a camera to stop that moment in time. I stroke his cheek gently.

"I wish we could escape," I sigh. "I'd show you London and Paris. You could show me Oslo and Stockholm, since I've never been there before. And many, many other places… Brussels, for example. Oh, how you'd love it. Chocolate, the landscapes and the people…!" I trail off, looking at him with soft eyes. "Me and you, without the wedding and our parents. I know it sounds idyllic, but such a life would be just… perfect."

It's not that impossible. I'd even be eager to escape tonight if only Lukas agrees. I'm desperate; I think that I'm not able to live like this any longer.


	43. CHAPTER 42

42

_Lukas_

We stand looking out over the garden, his arms wrapped firmly around my waist. His offer sounds so tempting...We could just go, and leave everything and everyone behind us. We could see the world, do whatever we wanted to. The way he describes it, I'd be ready to leave in a heartbeat. I want to go. Hell, I need to go. Lars strokes my cheek gently, and I stare out into the night. But then the sound of Sir Hansen's laugh and my father's voice reaches my ears, and inside the mansion I can imagine my mother there, sly as ever, my sister, even Lady Hansen and Lovise, and though it pains me, I know that we cannot leave. It's all too easy to imagine my sister's heart broken, the pain that we would bring to both our families if we just up and left. And we'd never be able to come back here, or Oslo as well, most likely. Disappearing together would raise questions, questions that could shame our families and ruin our reputations forever.

"Lars, I..." I trail off. Somehow I've managed to fall so in love and become so involved with this man that I'm ready to drop it all for him. And there I was, just minutes ago, lecturing my sister about duty...I am such a hypocrite.

"We can't."

"Why not," he mumbles into my neck. The feeling of his breath sends a shiver down my spine- in this position, it's hard to think straight.

"We can't," I repeat while my mind is still clear. "We can't just up and leave our families and life as we know it behind...Think of my sister. You're to marry...And you're right about Lovise, it's clear where my fate is headed. But if we disappear together, we'll be immediately marked for what we are, and we'll never be able to come back here. However much we want to go, we just can't..."

He merely sighs in response, but I know he sees my point by the resigned set of his shoulders. I take his hand and lead him away from the window, making sure to pull the drapes closed. The only light in the library now comes from the large fireplace with its crackling orange flames. However much I protest his idea though, some part of me wants him to ignore me and just take off. It'd be a relief to not have to worry about marriage, his or my own prospective match, which will surely follow soon after. The idea of being married, even to a sweet girl like Lovise, makes me cringe. I can't marry now, not after… meeting Lars. Surely no maiden can produce such feelings like this. I can almost feel my resolve to stay true to duty fading, and all of sudden I feel rebellious. Even if we can't leave, something must be done about this. Lars notices my sudden change in attitude. His brow furrows as I push him back against the table, albeit gently, and the lines deepen as my hands stray to the buttons of my shirt, which I slowly start to unbutton.


	44. CHAPTER 43

43

_Lars_

I recall everything I know. I realise I would do anything for that man standing in front of me, in my arms. I recall myself my trip to Paris, where I was looking for the fulfillment, but instead got only sexual satisfaction that couldn't last long. And my quest for emotional fulfillment led me back to Copenhagen, to my future brother-in-law. To the person with whom I started thinking about something more stable, not merely for one or two sexual encounters. I recall the literary environment. Paul Verlaine who was married and had a baby but when he met Arthur, who turned his world upside down, he decided to leave everything behind and fall deeply into the arms of love. Risking losing his opinion, reputation, family, everything. . . Why we all can't be that brave, I don't know. But then I recall how Paul looked when I met him; he was only fifty something but looked much older. He still missed Arthur, his only love. His wrinkled face and the saddest eyes I've ever seen said the whole story. I needn't have even asked.

"I really don't care, Lukas." I look deeply into his eyes. "I'm rich, you're rich, I write successfully; we could live like that, somewhere far away from here, waking every day side by side and..."

Before I say too much, he closes my mouth with a kiss. He pulled the curtains closed. It's half-dark and the brightest points in the room are now the fireplace and his eyes. He pushes me back against the table. I'm stunned by that sudden change of behaviour, it looks as if he was desperate. But I don't want to pretend I am not. I decide to take the initiative; it's me who pushes him on the table and I kiss him passionately, just like we did back in my apartment. But this... this is better, this is leading to unavoidable. I slide my hand under his shirt, I quickly get to work on it. He is mine to adore and I do adore him. I caress his neck with kisses, I bite his ear and mark him again, kissing that sensitive place behind his ear. And his sighs and quiet moans are my prize; I know that my actions bring the right effects.


	45. CHAPTER 44

44

_Lukas_

His words send a thrill through me-to be honest, I was hoping for such a reply. I lean in and break him off with a kiss, pressing him against the table. When he switches our positions, all thoughts of duty and my family leave my mind for good, and I merely react. He breaks our kiss for a moment-his blue eyes are dark with desire and a definite trace of lust- and snakes a hand to my shirt, undoing the rest of the buttons, and I quickly prop myself up to slip my arms out. We kiss again, and my fingers, made clumsy by my emotions and just the inability to see what I'm doing, struggle to undo the buttons of his own shirt. His lips trail down to my neck; he covers my skin with kisses, then bites down on my earlobe, rather hard. I gasp a little, and he takes that for a sign of encouragement, moving to the sensitive spot behind my ear.

"Ahh, don't stop," I gasp, not caring that I'm probably acting like a whore at the moment. My body and mind are just awash with all the new sensations, I'm lost in my environment. I've only ever slept with someone once before, and I was eighteen at the time. Three years have passed since that one night-I claimed drunkenness when confronted by her later as to why my affections had ceased. But this time is completely different, I'm with someone I'm in love with, however unbelievable it seems, and this is a stolen moment, a product of our deceit. I plan to relish every second of it.

I finally manage to unbutton his shirt; Lars rips it off impatiently before I guide our mouths back together. The table digs into my lower spine but I am only faintly aware of it. He runs his hands up and down my too-slim torso-it's not particularly masculine and strong, but the way that he acts, I could probably look like a starvation victim and he would not care. This thought comforts me a little, and I attack his neck with a surprising amount of fervor. I pull him down closer to me, and slide down lower beneath him, pressing my lips to his neck, to his chest, which is far broader than my own, by the way, which would have made me jealous another time, but now only increases my own level of desire. He shudders slightly under my ministrations, and his strong arms wobble a little as he hovers above me. Heh, he would probably crush me if he fell. That's how unfortunately slim I am.

My hands slip down to the high buttons of his trousers, where I should stop if I have any sense left, but I do not, and clumsily unbutton those as well. When his eyes meet mine, I feel suddenly nervous, as if I've broken some kind of law. I've never slept with a man before, so I don't know exactly how it works but...It seems all of my actions hit me now, and my blush is sudden and fierce.

"Lars...what must you think of me," I moan, now thoroughly embarrassed by myself. I don't move, but fling an arm over my eyes. The shame of my actions is nearly too much to bear.


	46. CHAPTER 45

45

_Lars_

It's not a proper place to have sex but I don't care. That risk that we can get caught red-handed turns me on even more. Sure, I locked us in with the key, but still my sister or my fiancée can knock on this door in any moment. I know that we shouldn't venture that much, it would end up very badly for both of us, but I cannot really stop myself, not in this moment … Lukas responses to my actions, building up my ego and self-esteem- it's like a confirmation of my manhood. He's beautiful, his body is beautiful as I cover his chest and belly with kisses. He is slightly-built, his skin is porcelain, with a kind of sheen to it. I want to be with him here and now, in everything. I want to take him to a place he has probably been never before. I kiss him, making my way down his chest as his clothes slide down his body. Then all of a sudden he interrupts, covering his eyes as if he doesn't want to look at me; his cheeks flush a bright red colour.

"Lukas," I sigh. "Don't cover yourself, Lukas, please. Look at me." I gently take his arm from his eyes and put my hands on his cheeks so that he must look at me now.

"I have fallen for you," I confess to him suddenly. He seems to be confused by it.

"Maybe I even love you. Isn't it enough?" A pleading tone creeps into my voice, and I silently curse myself. Now he will think it all only wanton lust…

"If you… don't want to, we can wait with that. I can wait for you," I say, kissing him on the lips gently, delicately. "Though I really liked that behaviour, dear," I whisper into his cheek.


	47. CHAPTER 46

46

_Lukas_

"I have fallen for you," Lars says suddenly. The way he says it, it sounds a confession. I furrow my brow slightly. I almost want to look away, afraid of what he's going to say, but his hands hold my face in place.

"Maybe I even love you." he goes on. "Isn't it enough? If you...don't want to, we can wait with that. I can wait for you." His voice turned to a whisper at the end, and he gently kisses me. He says something else after but I can't hear it over the sound of my own thoughts.

_Dear God_...I roll onto my side as best I can, my back to him and my eyes fixated on the bright orange flames of the library's hearth. The rush and exhilaration and desire I felt mere moments ago has left, and a darker thing has taken its place. "Why?" I ask him, and it is hard to keep my voice steady.

"Why?" he repeats, his tone one of confusion. He clearly does not understand, but I cannot blame him. I would not understand in his position.

"Why do you...How can you have fallen for me?" My voice sounds small to even my own ears, and I hate myself for it, just like almost every other thing about me. "You scarcely know me. I showed up in your life barely a few days ago, and now you..." I gasp a little, my shoulders shuddering. "No one really cares for me, not my mother, not my father, not my sister. They mock me, even to my face, and discuss me behind my back. I'm not tall enough, strong enough, manly enough, not bred to run his company right. I'm a terrible older brother; I spoiled Emilia for years and turned gruff today, and now she hates me for it. My parents- They can't even marry me off because I'm a man, but they don't want me to be the heir either. I have no friends; I'm not friendly, or outgoing, or know what to even say to people beyond the little chivalries beaten into me as a child.

"I'm not like you either. You've made your way in the world, through a pseudonym or not, and are accomplished. You could go off and do perfectly well, if we ran away for some absurd reason, and when you tired of me, which would surely be soon, I would not be able to live on my own. You don't know me, Lars, so don't go making grand statements about love. Save it for someone who deserves it."

When my little tirade is finished, I feel drained, as if confessing my true feelings took all the energy out of me. _He should feel honored, in a twisted way_, I think wryly. No one has or ever will get that much out of me. I'm naked before him in both the psychological and physical sense (or nearly). Almost afraid of a response, I scoot closer to the flames and work on slowing my too-fasts breaths. It's not seemly to appear half-crazed, though this whole situation is unseemly anyway. With my breath and heart-rate slowed again, I stare into the fire morosely. When he moves again, I stiffen, almost fearful of his response.


	48. CHAPTER 47

47

_Lars_

His words make me angry. No, that's not the right word - they make me worried. I run my hand through my hair, and begin slowly buttoning up my shirt again. The whole intimate atmosphere went to hell. I need a moment to cool off, my breath to even out and my heart to stop thumping.

"Lukas—" I try to interrupt him but he keeps talking of how unfriendly and hopeless he is. I sigh.

"Lukas!"

He blinks, baffled. "What…?" he says quietly- I can barely hear him but the movement of his lips say it all.

"Lukas, you didn't shut up! I cannot listen to this bullshit any longer," I say and take his face into my hands again. "I do care for you. I do. And I saved the statements for the right person, for you. Maybe I'm an idiot to fall in love with you, as you claim, but I don't care, can you hear it? I don't. And if you don't return it, I will try on and on, until your, as you say, cold heart is mine." I smile and give him a quick kiss on the lips.

"And remember," I say, looking into his eyes. "Never ask 'why' about love. Never."

I hold him close to me and after a second he gives up and cuddles up to me like a small, defenceless child. His fingers clench on my shirt just as if he was saying 'never let go'. But I'm not going anywhere, I'm going to stay. With him.


	49. CHAPTER 48

48

_Lukas_

I cling to him, my defences down and gone, long gone by this point. I am almost in shock- both from my outburst and his reply. My fingers clench into his shirt, wrinkling the starched white linen, but he doesn't seem to mind. His arms encircle me in an almost protective way, and I hold onto his grasp, saying nothing. His words about love go round and round in my head. I don't know exactly what to feel at the moment. Reassured is my closest thought. I didn't exactly doubt him, I just didn't believe it...couldn't wrap my mind around it. But I accepted it easily enough.

When his arms tighten around me minutely, I close my eyes and let my mind go blissfully blank. Resting my head against his upper chest, my still-bare torso presses against his clothed one. My arms rest on his shoulders while his encircle my waist.

"Thank you," I murmur, and look up at his face, meeting his eyes. The blue is a darker shade than my own, like the sea that surrounds the country. The water in the fjords of home on a cloudy day. A comforting colour.

"I'm sorry..." I go on slowly. "I want you to know that I care for you too...I do."

I sort of slide up his body and press our lips together. Yes, reassured is the word. It feels like there's a warmth in my chest, however slight. It presses at my rib cage, works its way through my bones and through my blood till my whole body can feel it. I kiss him again, and again, a sort of shy smile on my face. I feel better, my head lighter, after spewing all my thoughts. I feel like a layer of depth was added to our relationship, like it's becoming real. No longer a fling with a foreigner, but a budding relationship. I suddenly feel slightly giddy, and my smile widens. The warmth is a good feeling, like the start of something promising. I could even call it love. I'm behaving like a silly schoolgirl, I know, one moment seemingly depressed, the next happy, but I cannot control my feelings. Perhaps there is an imbalance in my humours; that might be the reason for all of this foolishness. But this warmth, it's good, a good feeling.


	50. CHAPTER 49

49

_Lars_

I smile when I hear these words. 'I care for you too'. It means more than anything else in this world; no promises, no vows could compare to these five words. I stroke his cheek with my thumb and press my lips to his forehead. I'm speechless but no more words from me are needed; everything has just been said. We kiss again and again as if the world around us never existed. But when we hear the knocking, everything stops. I am rooted to the spot. The door handle starts moving. Lukas looks at me in panic as we start looking for our clothes, lying all around the table.

"Lars, Lukas, are you there...?"

I can hear Lovise's voice. Oh, not now. Good that I locked the door... if she came in, it would be the end of everything. However, it's hard to believe that my lovely sister would give us away.

"Quickly," I mouth at him, smoothing my messy hair back. His hands are shaking as he puts on his shirt and starts buttoning it. "Lovise! Is that you?" I shout to her, taking a glance at Lukas. He's almost ready.

"Wait a second, I'm on the ladder!" I lie offhandedly, taking a quick look at the ladder that we use to take down the books that stand on the highest shelves.

"We should be off in a quarter!" she shouts back to me. When I make sure that Lukas is ready and that the room looks like it did before, I unlock the door and let my sister in. She has changed her clothes. Now she is wearing a beautiful, white dress with matching white gloves. She smiles at me, suspecting nothing, and deep inside I sigh with relief.

"Oh, you look gorgeous," I say and she giggles innocently. "Just look at her, Lukas."

He looks at my sister and smiles artificially. We have to start playing our roles again in this pathetic stage play called 'Life'. Oh, the author of this should be relieved, I swear...


	51. CHAPTER 50

50

_Lukas_

"Gorgeous," I say dutifully after him. "It's a beautiful gown, my dear Lovise." My smile feels wooden, I hope she can't tell. All the good feelings from a few moments ago vanished as soon as she swept in, as if her presence broke the spell surrounding us. I am thankful now that we did not..._go further_, shall I say. That would be hard to simply roll out of as we did just now.

She dimples prettily-she's just like my sister, everything about them is just so damn pretty- and goes back the way she came, descending the stairs gracefully. I follow her, and Lars, me; almost in a line do we go down the stairs. It must look ridiculous. At the landing stands my dear mother and sister. When she sees me, Lady Bondevik's smile is that of a cat.

"Lukas, my dear," she says sweetly. "Why, your hair! The back is mussed. Did you pull off your jacket by any chance, looking for that book of yours in the library?"

My ears must have reddened horribly as she stepped behind me to smooth down my hair, as if I was a young child. As if her words weren't humiliating enough, she has to do this as well.

"Ah, Mother darling," I say with a forced chuckle, turning my perfect, wooden smile on her. "That library does get warm sometimes, what with that roaring fire. And I had to reach for the book. It's not worth tearing a seam for such a thing."

As I speak, my eyes flick to Lars's- he looks on edge, just as nervous by my mother's words as I am. I can see the worry in those dark blue eyes of his, but the rest of his face is composed. "Darling," he says to Emilia, who is looking at me coolly, "we'd best leave if we do not want a crowd at the theatre. Besides, we might run into a few aspiring socialites." He sighs softly. "And they will want to speak with us, of course."

By me Lovise nods and smiles, and Emilia turns her baleful eyes on him.

"By speak with you, do you mean fuck you?"

My jaw drops, my eyes widening. Across me Lars looks just as shocked as I, and Lovise beside me. Good Lord, where did she pick up such a vocabulary? Those are not words meant for ladies. I want to grab her arm and pull her off again, but our mother is faster. She strides up to my sister, pulls off one calfskin glove, and slaps her cross the face, once, then twice, hard. Emilia is too shocked to cry out, her eyes wide as she cradles her red, stinging cheeks. They will surely bruise by the morrow. One could almost feel sorry for her.

"You will never repeat such words again, do you understand me?" my mother hisses, arm poised to strike again. Emilia nods, wide-eyed still, her hands on her cheeks. Lady Bondevik lowers her hand slowly and slips her glove back on, as if nothing unusual has happened. "Now I want an apology to your betrothed and Lovise for making such accusations and using that language in their presence."

She makes no mention of me, but I suppose that's to be expected, especially since I am family. _And I thought I was the one being treated like a child_. That thought almost makes me want to laugh aloud. Emilia reluctantly apologizes to Lars-her betrothed, strange as it is- and Lovise. Lars nods once, recovered from his shock. He chews on his lip contemplatively.

"Perhaps it is best that we do not go out tonight," he says thoughtfully. "Actually, yes. I'm sorry, dear sister, but it was not to be." Lovise nods once, compliant, and starts back up the stairs. I watch her go-the woman must be a sheep to be so obedient. A pretty, gentle sheep, but a sheep nonetheless. Not that I dislike her, I am just amazed by her.

For once my mother also agrees without dispute. "Yes, I should think so," she says with a pointed glare at her daughter. Emilia does not flinch this time, though, I'll give her that.

"I'll go inform your lady mother and the others," she says, which surprises me even more. Lady Bondevik is no more one to be agreeable and helpful than she is to be a fishwife. She departs, leaving Lars, a highly coloured, highly annoyed Emilia, and me.

She glares at us both, her apology clearly false. "I hate you both," she spits, her anger from earlier flamed by this recent turn of events. Lars looks surprised again, while I merely arrange my features into a mask of boredom.

"What is wrong with you, dear child," I say to her, sarcasm heavy in my voice. "I've spoken with you, our mother beat you, and still…you do not know how to let some things lie."


	52. CHAPTER 51

51

_Lars_

When we are downstairs again, all of a sudden things start to go badly.

First, Lukas's mother who notices his messy hair - nothing can escape her sharp eyes. It makes us feel uneasy but Lukas somehow manages to get out of that situation. I sigh with relief.

I walk over to my fiancée, hoping she stopped sulking about that 'brothel'. I give her my best smile that many women (and men) described as 'irresistible' or 'hypnotising'. But Emilia seems to be still angry. When I speak to her, she turns her head with a snort as if she scorns me.

I address her, I tell her we will meet with my and my parents' friends, that I'd show her off to the greatest social scene of Denmark and officially present her as my fiancée. But she seems uninterested; all of a sudden she turns her head and faces me. When the filthy words leave her lips, I feel as if I was punched in the face.

"By speak with you, do you mean fuck you?"

My eyes widen. No-one has ever affronted me this way. It was a libel—in the first moment I am shocked, rooted to the spot, unable to move. _Has she found out?!_ the voice in my head is screaming. But then I realise she couldn't hear Lukas and I, that this the result of the 'brothel' conversation. That she is still furious and—I guess—envious. Oh, I know how she feels—she has travelled kilometres to reach Copenhagen—it wasn't me who arrived—and I go with her brother to the brothel.

She can feel rejected, of course. But if she knew the truth, she would suffer much more...

I open my mouth to say something but her mother is quicker—she takes off her leather glove and slaps Emilia twice, once on each cheek. The girl doesn't even cry, which would be understandable, but flushes, glaring at anyone who meets her eyes.

She mutters some apology to me and my mother but it is obvious that it's not sincere. I don't blame her. However, I'm still shocked. How does she know such words...? From her father, from Lukas? Girls like her shouldn't rub shoulders with people who use such words, with the hoi polloi.

When everyone leaves, Emilia says she hates me and Lukas. He scowls at her and I burst out in laughter, unable to restrain myself any longer. Eventually, Lukas joins me and we are laughing like two crazy idiots. Emilia's blush darkens and glares at us as if she wants to kill us both.

"I cannot believe that!" I manage, still chuckling. "Who taught her such words...? Lukas, was it you?"

He smiles and raises his eyebrows as if he was saying 'maybe'. I reach for my coat on the rack near the staircase, shaking my head.  
>"Unbelievable," I say. "So, since we're not going to the theatre, how about some aquavit in the bar...?" I address him and I know he's aware that it's only an excuse to go out. He agrees straightaway and we leave my parents' apartment quickly, not even saying 'goodbye' to a resentful Emilia.<p>

It's dark outside, and snowing lightly. The earlier storm is gone, and we can almost see the stars in the sky. When I look at Lukas, we crack up once again. After we finally calm down sometime later, I light up a cigarette and offer one to him. He doesn't refuse.

"Let's have a walk, it's such a beautiful night," I say and he nods in agreement. Our breaths come out as white clouds; it's chilly, but bearable. I shyly take his hand for a while when there's no-one around.

"I was really shocked." I speak up first. "In the first moment I thought she had found out about us."

I deadpan at that thought. "How come she can feel so offended? How can she say 'I hate you both'? If I wanted to, I could break the engagement at any moment. She is still such a child..." I sigh.

* * *

><p><em>A million apologies for my hiatus! Now that my exams are over, I hope to be updating this more often- I'll aim for two a night. I'm terribly sorry to everyone following this story, but hopefully I'll be able to make it up to you all. Thank you so much for the continued support!<em>


	53. CHAPTER 52

52

Lukas

"I know she is," I reply, and take a puff of my cigarette. I cough a little from the sudden inhale of tobacco smoke. I can only be called a social smoker, and that's a stretch—unlike Lars, who seems to nearly live off the stuff. "She is rash and immature and stupid, but...she's still my sister," I say, and glance down at our entwined hands. It seems unbelievable to do this in public.

"Do you want to break off the engagement?" I ask him. He raises his eyebrows slightly, but says nothing, merely taking another drag from his cigarette. The lightly falling snow crusts his eyebrows and deep blond hair with a fine white powder. "Well, do you?" I press, somewhat anxiously, looking at him with my brow furrowed slightly.

He taps off the ashes of his cigarette into the snow, staining the brilliant white a chalky gray. "I don't know," Lars confesses. My eyes follow his movements. "I would not necessarily prefer it, but she does not help her cause."

"Please do not," I say, grasping his arm in supplication. His eyes widen slightly and his brow furrows as he looks down at me.

"I would think that you of all people should not want such a marriage," Lars intones somewhat gravely.

"It would be a tremendous shame to not only her but my entire family," I explain, still anxious. "To be sent back in such disgrace...her future marriage prospects will suffer. But more than that, it will drive a wedge between our families, and unless I marry Lovise...we'll be unable to see each other anymore. Now my father may be oblivious, but you can bet your life that even he will notice something if you or I travel just to be in each other's company."

He sighs. I know he sees the truth in my words. But then another idea takes root inside my head, a wild idea, the one from earlier, in the library...perhaps we are not quite so damned as we appear.

"Let's go, Lars," I burst out, my grip around his arm tighter than before. "Disregard everything I said, for this is far more to our liking. You yourself brought it up. We can go, run, disappear. Just us, just you and me. We can see the world-"


	54. CHAPTER 53

53

_Lars_

I am aware that if I… sent Emilia back to Oslo, I'd ruin the whole Bondevik family. And I would never see Lukas again. I could go to Norway and stay there, why not, but we would be forced to hide. He wouldn't be able to meet and talk with me openly. Now, at least, we can do this.  
>Do this and yet still pretend there's nothing between us.<p>

And then he stops as if he suddenly realises something. He grips my arm and looks me in the eyes. I look around—there is only one drunkard lying on the bench, he cannot see us.

"Let's go, Lars," he says, his grip around my arm tighter than before. "Disregard everything I said, for this is far more to our liking. You yourself brought it up. We can go, run, disappear. Just us, just you and me. We can see the world—"

"Lukas," I say, taking his beautiful face in my hands. "I would love to. You know that I would. I can do this, even now. But you have to be sure, sure that you really want it, that you are ready to never come back to Norway or Denmark," I say gravely.

"And that you're ready to live without much luxury since we wouldn't be able to use my or your family's wealth," I add. "I have escaped once, alone, like that. And… I had the greatest time of my life." I smile gently at this memory. "Well, they brought me back in the end. But with you… maybe it would work. Maybe we'd be able to hide and… run from this life."

I stroke his cheek with my thumb.

"I am ready," I say quietly but firmly, my voice unwavering.


	55. CHAPTER 54

54

_Lukas_

I smile slightly as his thumb strokes my face. I want to go, but a few things are unresolved still or will be if we go...I must appear horribly indecisive to him, saying one thing, then another. I say that if he breaks off the betrothal, it will bring shame to our families, or mine anyway, but if we leave, it will be doubly that. A break-off is a shame, but discovering your son was homosexual and eloped with your daughter's fiancé is much, much worse. But I can't find it in me to particularly care though. _Emilia was right when she called me a hypocrite_.

"Lars?" His eyebrows lift slightly as if waiting for me to continue. "Is it possible to go grab that aquavit and then go back to your apartment?" I ask him.

"A drink sounds good," he agrees, and takes a long drag from his cigarette. Mine is still in my free hand and shall probably burn me if I don't get rid of it soon, but for the moment, the heat is pleasant.

"I know it was just a cover, but I could use with some warming up," I continue, probably unnecessarily, seeing as he already agreed. "And a little relaxation. Everything seems to have picked up tonight, both with us and my sweet sister."

He makes a non-committal sound in response, and exhales a stream of tobacco smoke from his nostrils. It causes me to cough a little, combined with the fact that I just inhaled a few of the snowflakes still falling around is. It's cold, not much like the bitter winters of home, but enough to catch a chill in.

"Actually, we don't need to go to the bar," he says a few moments later. "There's drinks aplenty at my apartment, and even more privacy. And I don't feel much like calling a carriage to take us down, and even less like walking there."

My cigarette starts to burn, and I finally let it drop, where it's instantly extinguished by the powdery snow.


	56. CHAPTER 55

55

Lars

When we finally reach my apartment, I almost immediately flatten myself against him. I kiss him passionately on the lips and pull him close to myself. He is melts in my arms straightaway, like an ice cube in warm hands.

"Excuse me, sir…"

We pull away from each other immediately when we hear the servant. The woman probably hasn't seen much because it's half-dark, but I cannot be sure…

"Inge!" I shout at her, feeling the blood pounding in my ears. My cheeks and face are burning. "What have I told you about disturbing me and my guests! And approaching us so silently! I will have a heart attack if you keep doing this…"

"I-I'm sorry, sir," she mumbles, turning red, and quickly walks away. I take a few deep breaths and then turn to Lukas again.

"Sorry about that," I tell him and take off my coat. When I see the smile on his face and then hear a bit of a laugh, I mellow. After a while I start chuckling too. Well, to look at it from a different angle, it was a quite hilarious situation. "Oh God," I sigh.

"I guess your servants are used to your strange guests," he says and we giggle like two teenagers who did something bad.

"Who do you think I am," I say and wink at him, leading him to my room, where we were before. I open the cocktail cabinet and pour him some aquavit to the glass. Then I pour for myself too and raise the glass.

"Well, what are we proposing to…? To us…?" I suggest shyly.


	57. CHAPTER 56

56

Lukas

"To us," I propose boldly, and raise my glass to his. I down it in one gulp, and the spices and burn of the spirit down my throat makes me cough slightly, though the warm feeling in my chest as a result causes me want more. I've always been a bit of a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, but I'm throwing caution to the wind tonight in more than one respect, it seems. He seems to find this funny, my little coughing fit and willingly pours us another glass, then another. Soon enough, we've had several glasses, and I am well on my way to being inebriated.

"Why did you suggest aquavit?" I ask him, trying very hard to remain in control of my speech. His raised brow looks amusing to my liquor-influenced eyes, and a small giggle escapes me, then another. I lift my glass to my lips to take another drink, but the amber liquid sloshes onto my lips and chin from my failing coordination. This only causes me to laugh more however, causing Lars to stare at me like I'm a complete fool. I'm acting like one though, no one can deny that.

"Are we celebraaaating something?" I draw out the 'a' and laugh again. The bottle is almost empty, which causes a slight stirring of guilt in me—Lord knows how expensive it is—but I can't find it within myself to really feel sorry. After all, he had some too. He looks amused by me now.

''Lukas, perhaps you've had enough—"

"Don't worry about me," I laugh, and slap his hand away from my glass playfully. It seems all my inhibitions are released when alcohol comes into play. "Worry about your tradition." I lean back against the wall and make my voice sound very deep. "You're not drinking this right! You're supposed to drink it at celebrations and dinners and sip it from fancy glasses like at home and-" I hiccup and waggle a finger at him. "Fix yourself, young man!"

He purses his lips and looks down with a very peculiar expression, though his shoulders are shaking by this point. "My God, Lukas," he says, amusement colouring his tone, "do you do this whenever you are given any form of alcohol, or is this a special occasion?"

"Shut up!" I say angrily, managing to hold the expression for a few seconds before my anger crumbles and I laugh again. I snatch the bottle from the top of the cabinet and drink it straight. The taste of the caraway is intense, and makes me think of the wedding of my father's brother a few years ago. I can still picture that bottle of Løiten Linje even now. It makes me think of home again, which I don't want to do. Instead, I nearly launch myself at Lars, letting go of the empty bottle. I catch him off guard, and he falls backward onto the bed with an audible "oomph" as I land on top of him.

"It's not fair, Hansen, it's not fair!" He stares up at me in disgruntlement. "What's not fair?"

"Everything!" I exclaim dramatically and bury my face into the crook of his neck.


	58. CHAPTER 57

57

_Lars_

I should have predicted that Lukas would not be a heavy drinker. However, sometimes the appearance is deceptive. I used to… _know_ a man in England who was as slightly-built as Lukas and yet could drink a whole bottle of good, Irish whiskey and still be capable of talking with some sense.

When we fall on the bed, I'm almost sure in which direction this is going. The alcohol clouded my senses a bit too; I'm not really in control of myself. I love this state when I'm not drunk yet, but a little tipsy. In this state, all my troubles disappear and all the bad memories fade away. Like a brainless idiot, I'm enjoying life. Not to blunt the sting of the existence, like I usually do, but I'm like an Epicurean, I'm trying to seize the day.

I want to kiss him when all of a sudden he says that 'it's not fair'. When I ask what exactly is not fair, the answer comes in a second.

"Everything!" he responds, clinging to me. I embrace him and roll over to top him.

"Don't shout, kære." I smile, touching his face. He stares at me with his beautiful, blue eyes. They're a bit blurred at the moment, because of the aquavit. His cheeks are red. It's visible that the alcohol has fuddled him significantly.

"We have some unfinished thing to do," he says, provoking me. Smiling in this tempting way at me, one that I am not able to resist. I quickly join our lips together and he melts in my arms. The sigh that comes from him is a wonderful sound, sound of a relief and… something else. Something I cannot place exactly.

I cover his face and neck with kisses and his clothes are sliding down. I get rid of my vest and tie too. Lukas tries to unbutton my shirt but his hands are shaking from drunkenness. It doesn't help at all. I help him. Oh, it's so frustrating. _Why make a shirt with so many buttons…?_

When I start caressing him, he trembles a little. That's his 'yes'. I'm touching him, checking his reactions, looking for the weak spots. I want to learn the whole language of his body. I want to find that lost key to pleasure and slowly, gradually, I think I'm going to reach that target.

* * *

><p><em>Warning! M-rated content for the next four chapters! <em>


	59. CHAPTER 58

58

Lukas

I shiver slightly under his ministrations, my mind lost in a wave of alcohol and unexpected pleasure. I'm not used to being touched like this, touched at all, really, and the girl that I was with once never did such a thing. We kiss, then again and again. His lips trail across my jaw and down my neck, brushing against my ear and the sensitive spot behind it. The length of his body is pressed against mine, though somehow he keeps most of his weight off me. Fingers scrabbling against his back and clenching in the fabric of his shirt, I finally fully remove it, the buttons already undone by my fumbling fingers and his swift ones. This feeling of skin against skin shocks me, or would if I was in my right mind. It's so intimate, being pressed up against him, our chests bare, the only thing keeping me from full nudity a few buttons on my trousers.

This is so new, everything about this is new. We have kissed before, and even reached the shirtless state, but never continued one with one intention, one intention only like this. His hands leave my chest, slide down the sides of my torso, palms flat against my rapidly rising and falling stomach. I'm so fair that his hands almost look tan against me, a warmer sun-browned color to my ivory. This thought brings again that fleeting lack of self-confidence; surely no one could want this? but now I know that to not be true. I'm slim and pale and almost delicate-looking, but in his gaze I feel nearly perfect. The way his eyes roam over my body with that look of near wonder banishes all my doubts and I throw myself into a kiss with such fervor that even he seems surprised.

I clutch him to me like a sailor to a life-raft, arms wound tight around his chest and back and legs wrapped around his waist. When his hands reach those few buttons on my trousers, we don't pause this time, only continue to kiss as if our lives depend on it. I feel like mine does, in any regard. I have to let go for a moment as he slips my trousers off, and they join the ever-growing pile of discarded clothing on the floor. A few moments later, his are off too, and we press ourselves against each other, nothing between us now. He finds the place of my pleasure, and I gasp a little, egging him on, desperate for it to continue.


	60. CHAPTER 59

59

_Lars_

He is shy, more afraid than me, which is quite understandable. I am discovering the map of his body. It isn't easy, I can feel I have begun waking his desire, what was asleep for a long time.

My trousers are quite resistant, but in the end they are also thrown away somewhere on the floor. After a bit, Lukas's trousers are off as well.  
>When two people see each other naked for the first time, it is a greedy observation for the first several seconds. A man wonders if what he sees matches up to what he imagined.<br>But what I see couldn't even compare to my poor dreams.

He is beautiful. And he is all mine.

He is watching me, his eyes bewildered and excited.  
>My hand slides to the sensitive skin on the inner part of his thighs. I can feel him trembling. I long to drive him crazy; I want him to twist and shout. I want this moment to be special, to be something more than just a sexual act.<p>

I know he's stressed. I know he has never done it before, not with a man. But I cannot withdraw; I'm in too far. I'm not going to open the door if someone knocks; I cannot leave this moment. It would be like a sacrilege.

He eggs me on, wanting me to continue. This is the moment I fear the most—not for myself, but for him. I have some cold cream hidden in the bedside table. I reach for it, take some, slide my finger in. When Lukas moans and dig his nails into my skin, I know that my actions bring the right effects.  
>When I assume that he is ready, I cover him with my body and press him close to me.<p>

"Don't kill me," he whispers and I smile, kissing his earlobe.

"I promise," I reply, and kiss him again.

I enter him slowly, gradually. He lets out a noise, like a loud sigh.

"Does it hurt?" I ask him after a few moments have passed.

He shakes his head, though I'm almost sure he's lying. I wait for a few more seconds before I take further action. I kiss him on the lips and his mouth opens beneath mine. I feel each shuddering breath. We cling to each other greedily, as if one of us may disappear without a trace.

* * *

><p><em>Hey guys! So sorry for the long absence (again...)! There's just been some crazy stuff going on in my life here x'D <em>


	61. CHAPTER 60

60

_Lukas_

"Don't kill me," I whisper as he slowly, ever-so-slowly enters me. He smiles and kisses my earlobe.

"I'm not going to," Lars replies, his movements softer than ever. But still, it hurts. It hurts like hell, and this time, when I dig my nails into his shoulders and back, it's not from pleasure. The entire sensation is so strange—I've never even been touched there before, let alone...I mask my grunt of pain into a loud sigh.

"Does it hurt?" he breathes as he slides in a little further. I shake my head no; however strange this is, I don't want this moment to end. I don't move at all and neither does he, allowing me to adjust my position. My limbs are wrapped tight around his body, my muscles clenched even tighter. He kisses me, and I open my mouth. I bite down on his lower lip as he begins to move; my fingers dig into his back. It feels strange, stranger than ever before, and I'm helpless, all my control relinquished to him in probably the most trusting act I've ever done. He seems to realize this, and he's ever-so-gentle with me even though he must be itching to speed it up.

Our kiss turns sloppy as I shift—he takes this as an invitation to move as well, and when he does, I see stars. A moan tears its way out my throat and I gasp a list of obscenities bad enough to make a priest go deaf, things that would make me die of embarrassment if said in polite company. But this isn't polite company, but Lars, and when he does it again, and again, and again, I gasp and moan and shout and cling to him, a fire burning through my veins and my knees weak.

"Don't stop," I say; the words blow through me. And he doesn't, not till what seems to be eons from now, pulling out when I feel a spurt of warmth in me. He falls next to me on the bed, chest rising and falling swiftly with short, fast breaths that are probably two times slower than my own.


	62. CHAPTER 61

61

_Lars_

When Lukas forbids me to stop, I'm more glad than ever. After the first round, I'm ready for another one. It was quick because I was so frustrated and excited I couldn't hold on any longer. The first time is superficial and unsatisfying, only a harbinger of something bigger.

I kiss him, pull him closer to me. My hand slides down. He shudders when I touch him; when I start moving my hand faster and faster, he starts breathing spasmodically. I want him to enjoy this as well, and when I finally see he's also excited and ready, I enter him again. We unite in a sin, oscillating somewhere on the edge of lunacy.

Pins and needles down my stomach, I float far away from my room, to some unknown orbit, millions of miles away from Denmark.

I want to look at him so I change our positions once again. I look at him vacantly. His blissful face expression is like a fuse for me.

Exteriorization. Existence outside the body. I have no idea what my name is, where I live, how old I am. I don't have to know it. The only thing that matters is this magic moment when we, joined together, are wading towards the gates of the paradise.

Our sighs and groans fill the whole room, the rest of the world doesn't exist.

The orgasm unhinges the door to the land of pleasure and bliss with a kick. I am climaxing endlessly. I am somewhere far away in heaven, I meet angels and God. My own screams scare me. I bite Lukas in shoulder to muffle them a bit. And before the spasms of the first passes, then appears the second one, even deeper and even more intensive. It tears me to shreds, I stop existing. There is nothing left after me. I am like the biblical Jonah in the jaws of whale; I am spit out.  
>Suddenly everything stops.<p>

I fall back onto the pillows, trying to recapture myself. My spirit enters me back slowly. I'm regaining my senses and my memory. I close my eyes, oh God, how good it feels. Lukas lies down too, his head on my chest. His cheeks rose-coloured. He smiles softly. I brush his bright hair away from his forehead. Maybe it's a bit pathetic, but that's alright. After everything that has happened we need such gestures.


	63. CHAPTER 62

62

_Lukas_

We lie there in silence for a while—I do not know how long; perhaps minutes, hours, days—listening to the sound of our own breathing. My head rests on his chest. I can hear his slowly dwindling heartbeat. We are still awash in our pleasure, our bodies twitching slightly. As we lie there, a thin sheet now pulled over our nude bodies, it all slowly comes back to me. Once the pleasure and the alcohol have mostly drifted away, the reality of what we have done sets in, but for once, I don't want it to, I don't want to think about all of this. I simply want to lie there and be held, if just for a little while. He strokes a lock of hair away from my forehead; the gesture causes me to smile slightly.

No words are uttered, nothing breaks this peaceful moment of silence. Eventually I realize how sweaty we both are, causing our skin to slide and stick together, the slowly forming bruises on my neck, shoulder, and hips beginning to cause me pain, but still I lie there, unwilling to move. Our clothes, carelessly tossed to the floor, are strewn around the room. The heavy drapes that cover most of the window only allow a thin stream of light through. The beam lands on his face, over his eyes and across the bridge of his nose. It is the only real source of light in the room, the full moon outside. I lay my head back down, contemplating all of this when he stirs.

"I should leave soon," I hear myself say, albeit reluctantly. He sighs, his bare chest moving under my head.


	64. CHAPTER 63

63

_Lars_

I want to move my arm to reach the water jug standing on my bedside table but my muscles refuse to cooperate. I feel lopsided, uneven, and dazed after all that happened between Lukas and me. It was… I have never experienced such a thing before. Sure, it was pleasant. Always. But that… it was something different. Something more. There was a spark of something unexplainable. Maybe I reached the borders of cognition. I'm not sure.

But that feeling slowly fades, leaving the place for tiredness. _Jesus, I'm so exhausted_. Like never before. My eyelids droop as if I haven't slept for a whole week. Why can something so primitive like drowsiness occur to me after something that magical? Ah, it's not possible to forget that, after all, we're only humans, and apart from our souls and minds we have also flesh. Flesh that demands rest from me now. But I struggle; I don't want to fall asleep yet.

I want to tell Lukas how I love him but he speaks first. His words bring me back to the ground. Make me aware that there is a cruel world outside. There are our families. His sister, my fiancée. _Nej_, I don't want to think about her right now. She doesn't have entrance to this room.

"Don't go," I say, touching him with my trembling hands. "You can stay here and go in the morning. They won't suspect a thing. They will think we got drunk and I hauled you to my place."

He doesn't seem to be entirely convinced but he succumbs in the end. I reach the jug in the end and give him water. He drinks directly from the vessel, and when he finishes, I do the same thing. It's a relief. When I finish, I put the jug back and wrap my arm around Lukas' waist.

"I love you," I tell him, quietly. It's half-dark and I can see a beautiful but weak smile on his lips.


	65. CHAPTER 64

64

_Lukas_

"You. . .you love me?"

Hearing it out loud, that simple truth, brings a small, but radiant smile to my lips. Maybe he's said it before. He said a version of it in the library, but still, the mere thought of someone saying that to me, it's...it's a new experience. I shift, so that my arms are lying across his chest.

"I don't think anyone's said that to me since I was a babe," I say, still smiling, but it's wider now, more like a grin. Whatever our current circumstances are, it's so very, very nice to hear that. In the near darkness I can see his answering smile, the glint of his teeth. I should be morose about that fact but right now the only thing that crosses my mind is the now, the intimacy of this moment.

"I think I might be able to stay," I add, my voice quieter. My finger lazily draws circles on the planes of his chest. I lean my head against him.

"My mother, she...She seems to harbour some strange suspicion of me and possibly of us, but my sister and father and your family should be relatively calm about that excuse...It's a likely story after all, with my alcohol tolerance." I chuckle a little; somehow, the thought of their scorn is amusing to me. In Lars's arms, at least.

"Besides," I add thoughtfully, my finger still going, "Emilia's behaviour was inexcusable and she might have shamed us all...that would be an understandable reason for getting so drunk. At least in the context of my family." I press my lips to the hollow of his throat.


	66. CHAPTER 65

65

_Lars_

"Yes, I do love you," I answer, fully aware of my words. We talk for a while longer but the tiredness start to kick in and we cannot resist sleep for long. We fall asleep quickly, our bodies tangled together in an inseparable position.

When I wake up, it's a bright day outside. The sun slips into my room between the heavy curtains, waking me up. My eyelids slowly open, unaccustomed to the light. Then I see Lukas, still asleep, by my side. All of the memories from the night come back to me and a shiver runs down my body to my toes when I think about what happened between us. A sudden wave of heat hits me and I cannot resist touching him. I stroke his hair, his perfect face. My heart melts when I see him. When my lips ghost over his, he slowly opens his eyes and smiles. It's such a beautiful moment; no words are needed now. Our eyes say it all. We kiss for the first time this day and I pour all of my love into that simple gesture.

"Good morning," I say with a soft smile when we finish. He chuckles and so do I. It's the best morning of my whole life, I swear. If only I could wake by his side every day, I wouldn't need anything else.


	67. CHAPTER 66

66

_Lukas_

We kiss long and slow, the lingering kind that blurs the senses and makes you only want more.

"Good morning," he says when we finish, his blue eyes bright and a ready smile on those perfect lips. I smile back, deliriously happy for what seems to be the first time in years. I wish I could preserve this moment, capture the image and keep it for all posterity, like one of those cameras can do these days.

"Good morning," I reply, still smiling my silly, happy grin, my head resting in the crook of my elbow, which lies on his chest. The sheets are tangled around our entwined legs, the coverlet on the ground, thrown off in the passion of the night. Last night...it still seems a dream to me; this is all so perfect and unreal.

"Last night...did we really...?" I ask, hesitatingly. I don't think this is a dream- his chest is solid beneath me and the silk of the sheets is real enough- but I have to ask, I have to confirm. His eyes soften; he seems to sense my thoughts.

"It was real," he promises, and my smile returns.

"Of course it was," I reply flippantly after a moment, drawing circles on his bare skin with my other hand. "My imagination would not be half so rogue as you. How did you know how to do all of those things?...Never mind, I would not like to know. Let me pretend that that was your first time as well. Who knows what kind of company you kept before me?" I look up and roll my eyes to show that I am only teasing...mostly, anyway. He closes the distance between us and we kiss again.


	68. CHAPTER 67

67

_Lars_

I chuckle, somewhat artificially when he speaks about the 'company' I had before him. I know he is just teasing but I cannot help my nostalgia. Lukas is not my first big love. I'm a very emotional person; I fall in love easily, but I've only had two important persons in my life. Lukas is swiftly becoming one of them, and I hope that he will be the last. One day, I will tell him about them. Hopefully. I kiss him, not daring to answer. When we break the kiss, he moves away suddenly. I raise my eyebrows in confusion.

"What's wrong?"

"It's after ten o'clock," he says, and we both know what it means. We're almost late for the breakfast in my parents' apartment.

"Damnation!" I swear and get out of bed. I'm still weak after what happened between us; my legs seem to be made out of cotton wool. "Okay, don't worry so much, they know we went for a drink and we probably wouldn't be up early," I say to calm both myself and Lukas down. My words sound right so he smiles slightly at last. He goes to the washroom after I show him the direction. When he's out, I dress and try to put my forever-messy hair to rights (unsuccessfully). I look in the mirror and I see a changed man. My eyes are shining and my whole face seems to be smiling. Oh, I know what it is, I know this state. I've been like this a couple of times before. It's love that improves me. When I'm in love, everyone sees it straightaway – I talk louder, my poems are different, more optimistic, I think more positively. I'm a better version of myself, shortly.


	69. Chapter 68

68

_Lukas_

Once I reach the washroom I nearly collapse on the tiled floor, my legs giving out from under me. I land on my pile of clothes at least, but I cannot control the loud curse that escapes my lips.

"Fucking Christ," I groan, my backside aching so badly, and not only from my fall, I can scarce believe it. Goddamn, I had not thought of anything like this last night. It is the ultimate struggle to pull my clothes back on in a semblance of making myself look presentable—thanks the Lord that my excuse is drunkenness. If luck is on my side, perhaps I can pass this off as a hangover. I peer into the large, ornately gilded mirror—too luxurious for a washroom, even one such as this. My reflection stares back at me sulkily. My blond hair is mussed, my eyes slightly bloodshot with circles underneath—that will help my 'hangover'—my skin as fair as ever. I quickly run a hand through my hair and fix the last button on my now-wrinkled suit. I stare at my reflection once more, then turn on the cold water and quickly splash some up into my face and wipe it off with a large, fluffy towel hanging nearby. That will have to do.

When I half walk, half hobble back into the bedroom, Lars is standing there with a grin, somehow looking near-perfectly put together, even without the help of a manservant. His expression lights up further as I approach, but changes to one of slight concern when he notices my gait.

"Are you alright? What happened?" he asks, oblivious to my woes. I shake my head and sit down on the bed, which is still unmade, at least.

"You happened," I reply, not mentioning my fall.


	70. CHAPTER 69

69

_Lars_

I like his response. It amuses me and I laugh, before sitting and pulling him closer to myself. "Oh, I guess they will buy our story about the great akvavit party," I say, seeing him dazed and confused, still half-asleep and aching, with bags under his eyes.

I kiss him quickly, but we must leave if we don't want to keep our parents waiting for too long. We get into the carriage, where we are kissing again, unable to pull away from each other. The windows are curtained so that nobody is able to see us. Oh, dear God, it's so amusing going through the centre of Copenhagen, kissing a man, and being invisible. I feel like the whole world is lying under my feet, as if I was Atlas and could do everything. Love gives me strength and a will to live on. And my parents see my good mood when we arrive to their apartment at last. But they easily buy the story of drunkenness and hangovers. My father and Mr Bondevik chuckle when they see us, probably suspecting we got drunk and went to Vesterbro, to the infamous quarter of red lights and entertainment. I don't correct them, only smiling when my future father-in-law pats my shoulder. If only they knew the truth.

"My boy," Mr Bondevik addresses Lukas, smiling. Oh, they are so predictable. Mr Bondevik must think that Lukas started to be more courageous with my companionship, and that it was me who showed him how to deal with women. That from a shy boy he transformed into a 'real man'. Jesus Christ. I will let them think this way; they can't know the truth. Ever. When we reach the dining room, my mother, Emilia and Lady Bondevik are there, making small talk. My fiancée seems to be somber this morning, her head low and her eyes fixed on the table.

"_God morgen_," I begin. Lady Bondevik sends me a rather smug-looking smile and looks meaningfully at her daughter.

"My daughter wants to talk to you, dear Lars, after breakfast," she says. "N'est-ce pas, mon Emilie?"

"Yes, mother," she replies, as if ashamed by her behaviour yesterday.

"Oh, of course," I reply, but in all honesty, I do not care. I'd prefer to spend this time with Lukas than with his sister. "We can go horse-riding or just have a walk in Rosenborg Castle Gardens."

"Brilliant idea," my mother butts in. "That sounds lovely."

"Yes, me too. Emilia?" her mother asks her and she nods in agreement. Lady Bondevik seems satisfied, but when Lukas appears a while after me, I can see her eyes scan him. As he said, she has some strange suspicion. But for now we are playing and hiding very well; no-one can utter any grievances against us.

"Since we're finally together, please, help yourself," says my father as he takes his seat at the table. We begin eating, the ladies resuming their chattering. Mr Bondevik and my father start talking about the season for moose. I am not a much of a hunter; maybe only for hares and pheasants for sport, not for large game like moose.

"Well, well, Erik that sounds a good idea. What do you think, boys?" Mr Bondevik looks at me and Lukas both. "You cannot miss such an opportunity."


End file.
